30 Days of Night
by TheEquestrianidiot 2.0
Summary: Life is a precious thing to those who have lost it. Gravity Falls is a small little town; home to a small population, and when a strong storm in the winter forces the residents to hunker down, something returns to the town. Someone thirsty for blood and bent on revenge. The skies grow dark, and the ground grows red with blood.
1. Act I: Prelude - Two Days Ago

_"It's not pretty. But when was a great horror story ever pretty? I suppose there are a few decadent predators out there who do look fancy in velvet, but Steve's vampires are not of that clan. He's tapped into a new vein in these pages, evoking a cold, joyless world in appetite can never be sated, and love gives no comfort. Even in the bright light of day. In fact, especially then._

_I won't spoil the tale by saying any more. Let me only commend 30 Days of Night to you, with certainty that if you have a taste for the real stuff of horror fiction, you'll find it in the pages that follow."_

-Clive Barker, 30 Days of Night by Steve Niles

* * *

Two days ago out if the haze of tress, as if from nowhere, came Him. His eyes were red rimmed, yet they sparkled with determination and excitement. His chin and cheeks were clean and smooth, almost baby-like, and yet looked weary, wretched, and in pain but his expression suggested that he could walk on forever. Pausing and glancing over his shoulder, he could just make out the shadow of the prison.

He marched across the plains, the wind chilling as he walked and he tightened the coat he was wearing across his chest, zipping it up beneath his chin so that the hood gathered around his face. But there was little that could protect him the storm that was coming. He felt hot from exertion, but his breath gathered in the air before him. Once or twice he stumbled and fell, coating his clothing with wet moister, an unintentional camouflage. But there was no need to hide. It would soon be the first bad storm of many, and no one in their right mind would be outside later. The spell he had muttered outside was already doing it's work.

He drew a clear map case from his pocket with a flashlight, checked the compass hanging around his neck, and grunted. Right way. Not long now, He looked up at the sky but all he could see were dark, fluffy clouds. But soon there would be snow. Oh, so much snow. It was said that every flake was different and unique, but he didn't really care. For the him, there was merely us and them. The one who wronged him. And that blasted old fool. Stanford Pines.

An hour later he started up an incline. He was struggling by now, legs shaking and breath rasping in his throat. He needed warmth, shelter, and food, but more than anything he needed to succeed. Anything else was unthinkable.

Dreaming of what would come, he mounted a ridge and stopped. Ahead of him, way across the forests, lights winked in the darkness. He dug out a pair of compact binoculars from his pocket.

Several dozen low buildings hugged the landscape. Oil drilling derricks ringed the outpost in the distance, tall masts topped with red flashing lights stood away from the settlement to the north and south, and dozens of poles suspended a web of power cables at eaves level. Lights burned in many of the buildings. There were even a few illuminated signs on show. In this place of woodlands and fields of grass, the town looked almost warm.

"Gravity Falls," he remarked. "I told y'all ya hadn't seen the last of lil' ol' me."

And then, Gideon Charles Gleeful grinned.


	2. Act I: Last Day of Sun - Pt 1

TONIGHT - LAST DAY OF SUN

* * *

The sun was going down, and the last thing Sheriff Dipper Pines needed was a problem. Not now, not today, and not right here. This was a special place for him, and he had no wish to see it tainted. But all this snow was making it hard. It seems like it had come from nowhere. Granted it was near the beginning December, Gravity Falls still never got this much snow. But he wouldn't let that get to him as sat on the hood of his 4x4, eyes closed, remembering the good times.

_"Dipper? You there, dude? Come on."_ Soos was calling him on the radio, but for a few more seconds Dipper remained in his own world. Here, all those years ago, up on the ridge with her. Watching the sunrise. Already thinking that maybe she was the one.

_"Dipper? Come in, Dipper, you there?"_

Dipper sighed. "I'm here, Soos." He slid from the hood and thrust his hands in his pockets. He was a tall man, wiry and strong, with a grim face that would have baked better wearing a smile.

Soos Ramirez stood halfway up the slope, fidgeting from side to side. The fortyish deputy was obviously excited at his find, bur perturbed as well. "Dipper, really need to show you this." He waited until Dipper reached him, then they walked up the slope together to the hole in the snow. Dipper stood with his back to the sun, protecting his eyes from the glare of its dying light. He into the hole and grew still. "Strange," he said.

"Ain't it? Who'd do a thing like this?" Soos shined flashlight into the hole. It contained a mess of burnt phones, their plastic casings melted and warped into weird shapes, the metal and glass in some distorted. A rush of wind blew a sprinkle of into snowflakes into the hole and they melted.

"Still warm," Dipper said. He knelt down, picked up the remains of a phone and shrugged.

"Someone got a little upset about roaming charges?" Soos said.

Dipper ignored the crack, stood and shook his head. "Stealing satellite and cell phones'd make sense, you could hock them, maybe run up charges on someone's account. But burning them?"

"Kids? Pulling some prank?"

"Nah. There'd be a message, 'Fuck you' to their parents or the world or whoever. Not bad thought—" Dipper broke off, distracted by the sight of the sun bleeding across the horizon. There was still light snow in the air from the storm, drifting with the wind and giving the sun a blank canvas on which to paint its demise. He walked along the ridge to watch.

The sun had touched the horizon, and it looked as though it was burning its way into the frozen Oregon landscape, ready to hibernate for a month, like it would leave them, dark, cold, and abandoned. Alone.

"I remember brought Melody here on our second date," Soos said.

"We all did," Dipper said, "Hey, not Melody, I mean, just . . ."

Soos chuckled. "l gotcha, dude. Perfect view of the sunset at the start of the winter season. Usually the way it works, don't it?"

"For me it was the sunrise," Dipper said, "Best damn date I ever had."

"Yeah," Soos said, uncomfortable now. He fidgeted again until he had a sudden thought, "Hey, Dipper, c'mon, let's do the sign." Dipper stared across the icy desert, trying to cast himself back in time but unable to do so. His insides were as cold as this landscape, and as barren. He sighed, craving to feel that warmth again.

"You okay, Dipper?" Soos asked quietly

Yeah." Dipper turned and started back down the slope. He passed the ruined phones with a glance, and by the time he made it back to the 4x4 he could hear Soos following turn. Dependable Soos. Caring Soos, who could never find the right thing to say.

* * *

At the outskirts of Gravity Falls, Dipper stopped the 4x4 next to the town sign. It had obviously been written by a tourism bureau with a sense of humor: WELCOME TO GRAVITY FALLS —TOP OF THE WORLD! POPULATION 1,003 — WARNING! DANGER! GRIZZLY BEARS!

In the passenger seat, Soos chuckled with the anticipation of what he was about to do. Dipper so wished he could find humor in such things. The deputy jumped from the vehicle and approached the sign, pulling out some metal tags from his coat pocket.

Dipper leaned from the window. "Nobody's gonna that sign for the next thirty days, Soos."

"I still can't believe the Mayor had to close the town down from the tourists," Soos called. "We normally stay open year round!" He hung some new tags over the "Population" number, reducing the 1,003 to 152 for the coming thirty days.

Some people couldn't handle that much snow, Even those who stayed behind, it sometimes caused problems. It was a busy month for Dipper, but one he strangely looked forward to every year. He'd always enjoyed Gravity Falls isolation, and this month was always slow for tourists getting ready for Christmas and whatnot. And yet, around this time every year more and more clouds would begin to roll in, and they would stay in the sky for days on end, covering the small town in what Fallers had named the Dark, the clouds refusing to let the sun shine, and blanketing the town with a temporary darkness. But that made the job even more intense.

Soos climbed back in, and Dipper gunned the motor and drove them past the drilling derricks and into town. "Home sweet home," Soos said. At last, Dipper found smile.

* * *

Gravity Falls was a town like no other. It was a northernmost settlement in North America, isolated from the world by hundreds of miles of forest and woodlands and almost exclusively accessed by bus. Its people were hardy, the bulk of them employed by the oil companies that had settled here a couple of years ago and they and their families suffered had to suffer the harshness of the annual cold and searing summer heat for the rewards it offered them. Though in truth, for many of them, the suffering was slight; they enjoyed such an existence and found that it offered rewards other than money. There was isolation, a sense of truly living with nature, and a simpler way of life.

Much of the town had its own unique architecture. Homes and stores were built on thick timber piles to properly level their structures from the stresses of shifting ice that would sometimes gather in the winter and to keep some of the water at bay should it flood in the spring. Beneath the buildings were crawl spaces of various depths and sizes, some of them boarded in with timber sheeting to prevent animals from sheltering there, others open to the elements. Here and there, snowdrifts from the recent storm reached window level. Some residents had tried to dig through, forming tunneled pathways past their homes, but most had not bothered. The weather was unforgiving here, and it would always win.

The roads were cleared periodically by the towns snowplow, forming banks of snow six feet high on either side of the roads. There were walk-throughs dug about, mostly in front of the handful of stores, bars, and restaurants that served the town. Business was business, and even in Gravity Falls it helped to keep your customers

Crawl spaces, walkways, tunnels through drifted snowbanks . . . here, Gideon was very much at home. Not that he couldn't go back home to start with. With the plan already in motion, returning to his old home would be pointless. And besides, there were plenty of places to hide. Lots of cover for when he wanted to move around. He'd always found them to be rusting people, leaving doors unlocked and possessions open to view. That had helped, but the approaching darkness seemed to make the inhabitants more cautious, and now his tasks were becoming more difficult and dangerous. Not that he was at all afraid of being caught, just not yet. He had no wish to spoil the surprise.

And now the huskies were barking, and they would give him away.

He finished rooting around in the trash can for food scraps. The sled dogs still barked, and he thought much of it was from fear. They had growled to begin with, baring their yellowed teeth at him, hackles rising. hunkering down as if to leap. But he had merely growled back, and their fear had set them off.

Gideon chewed on the remains of the hamburger he'd found. _Nuked. Damn, don't these people like a little bit of blood with their food?_

The dogs' barking became louder and more frenzied.

Gideon turned on them and put his hand inside his coat pocket. The huskies fell silent. And as he advanced on them, the growling began anew.

When he reached for the first hound, it snapped at him. He kicked It to the ground, grabbed its chain, dragged it to him, knelt on its neck, and plunged the knife into its chest.

The husky howled. and the other dogs started whining tn terror.

He withdrew the knife and sniffed at the blood. Foul. They deserved to die.

* * *

A minute past the town sign they came across the snowplow, swerved off the road and half-buried in a drift. The hood was up, and Bud Gleeful was working beneath it.

Dipper stopped the 4x4 a dozen paces away and sighed. Bud paid no attention to their arrival, Even from here Dipper could ser the stain of spilled oil beneath the truck.

"Let's see what's going on," Dipper said.

"You know he's gonna get pissy," Soos said, making to climb front the cab.

Dipper shook his head, "Stay here, Soos—no need two of us getting cold again." He climbed from the 4x4 and approached the truck. The back was covered with a tarpaulin, one corner loose and flapping in the breeze. He paused and watched Bud working; he was an ox of a man, With sometimes the temper to match.

"Little problem?" Dipper asked.

"Nothin' I can't handle my own self." Bud didn't even look up.

Dipper sighed again. _Not now,_ he thought. Bud had never caused him trouble—not physically, at least—but he could be an argumentative son of a bitch if the mood took him. Which was often. He lifted the flapping corner of tarpaulin and peeked underneath. In the weak streetlights, he could see several oil canisters, rolled together in a jumble.

"This for generators?"

"Mostly."

"I can't have it leaking all over the roads, Bud. You know I'll have to cite you for that." He took out his citation book and started writing, just as Bud's expected outburst began.

"Fuck's sake, Sheriff. You don't have to cite me. You don't have to do anything. That's why we live up here. ain't it? So we've got a little freedom?"

Dipper glanced up, but Bud was looking over his shoulder. "Why don't you run Soos on home so he can cuddle with that cute wifey of his? Only fair that one of us oughta get laid tonight, at least." The big man grinned.

Dipper stepped forward, ripped the ticket, and stuffed it casually in Bud's coat pocket. "Happy motoring," he said, turning his back on Bud.

'Yeah. Fuck you very much. I'll add this to my collection."

Dipper smiled as he climbed back into the 4x4. _Didn't go so bad,_ he thought. _Least I'm not laid in the snow._ He felt a sudden tightness in his chest, but he didn't like using his inhaler In front of other people. Even Soos. He started the motor and pulled gently away, feeling Bud's gaze burning into him.

"Bud's not that bad," Soos said. "Why do you bother writing him up?"

Dipper shivered and turned up the heat. "He lives all by himself in that house on the south ridge, y'know? A little citation now and then reminds Bud he's part of this town. Good for him, and when it snows, good for us."

Soos nodded. "l guess. But he's right though, Dipper."

"Right about what?'

"You really should drop me at home. Whenever it get dark like this, Melody always likes the first night of the Dark," Soos chuckled, and Dipper could not help being infected by the man's humor,

_Lucky for you,_ Dipper thought. Some people sleep alone. But there was not an ounce of malice in this thought. Dipper knew well enough that some who slept alone had no one to blame but themselves.

"Another hour on duty, by my watch," Dipper said. "Maybe she'll keep warm for you."

The radio crackled, startling them both_. "Dipper, come in, Dipper."_ It was Mabel, their dispatcher, and Dippers twin sister. And Dipper could already hear trouble in her voice.

Dipper picked up the handset. "Roger, Mabel."

_"Dipper . . . something bad's happens to Robbie Valentino's dogs."_

Dipper and Soos glanced at each other.

* * *

As night fell, Gravity Falls became a town of good-byes. Some people could handle the long period of darkness without going mad; indeed, some welcomed it. Others found it oppressive and disturbing, and resorted to the bottle or fist to appease their stress. It was these who left, whether voluntarily or, in several cases, by the suggestion of other townsfolk. In Gravity Falls, it was hard enough dealing with what nature had to throw against them, let alone handling someone driven to the edge by such harsh conditions.

Mainly these were cheerful farewells; given in the sure knowledge that people would be reunited again in a month. The main street had something of a carnival atmosphere as the stragglers prepared to head for the bus station. Horns honked, the lights strung between buildings shone bright, people wandered here and there laughing, hugging, and shaking hands, Those who were staying promised that they would take care, and those leaving were told not to have too much of a good time, There was excitement in the air, but an underlying sense of melancholy as well. Beneath all the enthusiasm lay the knowledge that Gravity Falls was a town very much ruled by its environment. That was always a challenge, but sometimes . . .

Sometimes it was dangerous.

* * *

Wendy Corduroy had been back in Gravity Falls for eight hours, and already she wanted to leave.

Since she'd left the first time, she'd been working for the Oregon State Fire Marshal's office, and now it seemed that they were doing their very best to help her return. Twelve hours before Gravity Falls closed down for the longest month of its year, they'd sent her here, requesting that she inspect and test the foam fire-fighting tanks housed inside Gravity Falls's own small fire station. It could have been done at any time—a month ago, or two months down the line—and would still have complied with guidelines. But no, now was when she had to do it. And here she was.

She hadn't even told Dipper she was back. She was confused enough with life right now, why confuse it more? Wendy was in her late twenties, good-looking, trim and athletic, and she commanded respect from everyone who knew her. She was good at her job, and knew that she'd be good at any job. Life was too short for average. She was aware that some people called her hard, but to her knowledge no one had ever called her cold. Other than Dipper, of course. One of the volunteer firemen, Sofia Colletta, walked by. "Kinda put this off till the last minute, didja Wendy?"

"Tell me about it. A lot of small towns in this state. and my boss wants all their gear inspected and certified by the thirty-first."

"And I notice you saved Gravity Falls for last."

"l was sent here, Sofia," she said sternly. "Didn't come of my own accord."

Sofia's face fell a little. "Oh. Sure you don't wanna stay? Jeannie and I were kinda hoping you and Dipper—"

"No," Wendy said, shaking her head. She moved on, examining another piece of equipment, tapping a dial, and she sensed Sofia moving away behind her. My business, she thought, Wish people would leave me the hell alone about it. She closed her clipboard and sighed. "Sofia," she said. She turned around, and Sofia was standing expectantly a few pates from her. "Thanks a ton but I've gotta make the bus. It was nice seeing you again. You take it easy."

"You too, Wendy."

She smiled, zipped up her parka and headed out to where her rented 4x4 was parked. She glanced at her watch; plenty of time. The notion of being stuck here for the month . No thanks, she thought. She fired up the 4x4 and skidded out of the fire station driveway.

* * *

Wendy passed a few people still on the streets, but she waved to no one. She hoped that none of them saw who was driving. This was meant to be a quick in-and-out— she'd never intended hanging around to rediscover old friendships. Most of them were gone now anyway, either waiting at the airport for the last flight, or back in their homes to get used to thirty days without their husbands, wives or families. Perhaps it said a lot about Wendy's current state of mind when she thought that many of them would be looking forward to the break.

She hated it when those blessed enough to have families complained about being around them all the time.

She pushed down angrily on the gas, corrected the steering when the 4x4 slipped out from under her, and then a shadow emerged from the night, bearing down.

Wendy jumped, then relaxed back in her seat. It was only the trencher—a huge truck mounted on tracks instead of wheels and bearing a massive chain saw on its nose. A mean-looking vehicle driven by Thompson Hamm, she had seen it around many times when she'd lived in Gravity Falls. It looked pretty damn intimidating right now, illuminated by her headlights reflected up from the snow, windshield like a dark mouth above its own lights, chain saw inactive but still pointing threateningly ahead.

"My right of way," Wendy muttered. Still, she eased up on the gas. Years of driving in the snow sharpened her instincts.

The trencher started flashing at her, honking its horn, and for a crazy second she thought Thompson had recognized her and wanted to stop and chat. Then it struck, throwing her against her window with the impact and sending the 4x4 fishtailing across the road.

Wendy held her breath and tensed up, everything she knew she shouldn't do in a crash. The 4x4 came to a shuddering halt in a snowbank, and she found herself still gripping the wheel. She gasped, shaking her head. Something bad there. Grinding metal. For a moment she dreaded what she'd find when she got out, but then the fact that she was still alive hit home. It could have been a whole lot worse.

She had to shove her door hard to get it open, impact must have buckled metal somewhere, bent the frame. She walked a couple of steps, turned and surveyed the damage. Her front tire was shredded, the wheel itself gouged by the vicious links of the chain saw. The wheel arch was rumpled as well, a subtle texture in the metal that could hide a lot more damage underneath.

"Goddamn it, Thompson!" she shouted. "Don't you know what 'right of way' means?"

Thompson jumped down from his cab. "I'm sorry, Wendy, the brakes jammed."

Wendy looked at the trencher. It had suffered hardly a scratch. "Well you're all right!"

"Dipper wanted this back from the bus station before the storm hits, I was just trying to—"

Wendy shook her head and went around to the back of her truck. _Just my luck! Oh, I can't be stuck here, I can't, I can't!_ She opened the door and pulled out her carry-on bag. She sensed Thompson standing behind her, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot.

"I didn't even know you were in town," the trencher driver said.

"Nobody knew," Wendy said. She spun around. "So now who's gonna run me to the airport?"

"Wouldn't Dipper—"

Wendy sighed. "Of course he would. But I just popped into town for work, and he doesn't know I'm here. I didn't want things to get messy, today of all days." A few snowflakes were dancing in the air now, so light that she couldn't be sure whether they were fresh, or fallen snow gusted up from the ground. A couple landed on Thompson's eyelashes and he seemed not to notice. _Go easy on him,_ she thought.

"My mom could bring the tow truck," he said, "But, uh, you know she doesn't move so fast.

"Thanks, Thompson," Wendy said, and the anger was still there, her short temper showing through again. The driver averted his eyes, abashed, and it was too late to try and apologize for snapping at him. Later, maybe. The brakes jammed, he'd said. She shook her head. She had to arrange a ride to the station, and she was delaying the inevitable.

She pulled out her cell phone and speed-dialed Dipper's number. He answered after three rings, obviously having her name on his caller display. His voice was cautious and defensive. _"It's me. "_

"Surprise, " Wendy said flatly. She closed her eyes. This was more difficult than she'd thought. "Dipper, I ride to the airport."

He did not respond for a few seconds, obviously processing the words and what they implied.

_"Wait, what? You're in town? And you didn't want to talk?"_

"What about?" Wendy said. They were both silent for a moment, displaying the honesty of her statement. A million things to say, but neither of them wanted to say a thing. "Look, Dipper, I had Fire Marshal work here at the station, now I'm stuck at Ransom and 355. I've' had a fender bender with Thompson and the bus stop'll close soon, and then I'll never get back to Portland. I'll be stuck here for a month. I need to get back, Dipper. If you want to talk, we can do it on the drive to the station." She fell quiet, seeing Thompson's discomfort through her hazed breath. The telephone ticked and crackled, Then she heard Dipper moving about and the sound of a car door opening.

_"Soos!"_ Dipper shouted. _"Hey, Soos! Wendy's stuck at Ransom and 355, can yon get her to the bus stop before the bus leaves?"_

_He's sending Soos?_ Wendy thought, but she would not say anything. _Let him play his games._

After a pause, Dipper came back on the phone. _"Listen, Robbie needs my help with something, so Soos's on his way. You let me know if a day comes when you do want to talk."_

"Dipper-" But he was gone. Wendy cursed at letting the conversation end like that; Dipper at an advantage. This wasn't a fucking game, she knew that, but . . . it really was, wasn't it? Hadn't it always been a game between the two of them? She shook her head and thrust the phone back into her pocket.

Thompson was kneeling down beside her rental, pointlessty touching the crunched bodywork and tapping the tattered wheel with his knuckles. She stood beside him and checked out the damage. Not good. It'd need a tow truck. She moved over to the trencher, for something to do more than anything else, and sighed with frustration when she saw how unscathed it was.

Thompson beeped a number into his cell phone behind her. Anything to avoid actually talking to me, she thought.

She knelt in the compacted snow beside the trencher, took a small flashlight from her pocket, and looked underneath.

Thompson started talking to his mother, asking her for a tow and speaking like a berated child when she obviously launched one at him down the line ("Yeah, Morn, Wendy asked the same thing. Could you just give me a tow?"). Wendy smiled, then felt sorry for the poor kid.

She shined the flashlight around beneath the trencher until she saw something hanging down, a pipe almost touching the ground. A few drips of fluid seeped from the end, darkening the snow. That's not right, she thought. She lay down on her side and stretched her arm underneath. The brake cable was hanging down. And she was no expert, but from what she could see it looked as though it had been cut. Frowning, she stood up and brushed snow from her parka. She checked her watch and hoped Soos would hurry the hell up.


	3. Act I: Last Day of Sun - Pt 2

The dogs had been slaughtered.

Someone had gone at them with a knife, that was clear, and their still-steaming blood and insides were now splashed across the Valentinos' backyard, Dipper tried not to breathe in the steam, because he knew where it carne from.

"What sick jerk would do something like this?" Ally Valentino wailed. She was in her late fifties, small and athletic and usually very happy, and Dipper knew that she often went out with the dogs.

"Every kennel," Her son Robbie said, his tone flat. "Every dog we had."

"You have a fight with anyone lately, Robbie?" Dipper asked. Robbie was known for saying what he thought, and sometimes his thoughts weren't that pretty.

Robbie shook his head. "Y 'know, somebody always freaks out a little; once the sun's gone, but it usually takes two or three weeks." He was lost in grief and shock, and Dipper suddenly felt very sad. Angry, a little bit afraid , . . but sad as well. For the Valentinos, this was an awful beginning to the long night.

"I'll kill them," Robbie said. "When we find out who did it, I'll kill them."

"Hang on now, Robbie—" his father John began; but his Robbie shrugged his hand off and stared at the bloody mess of their backyard, Then his face crumpled, and she sunk into the snow on his knees as the tears came.

"It can't be somebody we know," John said, his own eyes watering.

Dipper shrugged. "But the bodies are still warm. This wasn't done long enough ago that you could get to the airport afterward. Whoever did this , . is still in town."

"These dogs were strong," Robbie said. Then he, his mother and father went inside, leaving Dipper to the steam and blood.

* * *

Thompson was drinking a soda, and Wendy was sitting on her bag beside the wrecked rental when she heard a motor. _Let it be Dipper_, she thought. And at the same tune, she fervently wished it was not.

Soos's voice gave her answer. "Your limo's here, Mrs. Pines."

Wendy stood and heaved her bag at Soos when he jumped down from his cab. "Service is going downhill," she said.

Soos was about to say something, but Wendy turned to Thompson. "You'll be okay, Thompson?"

"My mom will be here soon to tow me in."

Wendy nodded and glanced at the trencher. Brakes cut. Who the hell would want to hurt Thompson? But maybe she'd been mistaken. It was dark after all, and perhaps the pipe she'd seen hadn't been the brake cable at all.

Wendy then turned and threw up her hands at Soos "Where've you been?!"

"Sorry I'm late, Wendy," Soos said. "The car keys weren't where I thought, and then I was like, wait, Rogers and 355, or Ransom? And then when I—"

"Never mind. Let's go—we've got to hustle if I'm going to make that plane." She scrambled in the cab and waved back. "Take it easy, Thompson. " The trencher driver waved, offering a tentative smile

"See you again?"

Wendy closed the door without answering.

"Hey, Wendy," Soos said, He sat there waiting for a response. She shook her head.

"Soos, I just need to get to the bus station! No bullshit, no psychoanalysis, just a drive from here to there. Is that okay?"

"Sure thing," Soos said, but in his voice she heard that it was not okay at all.

* * *

Soos drove fast. But still Wendy checked her watch every thirty seconds, willing the time to slow down, staring at the minute hand in the hope that it would retreat five minutes and give her some sort of safety zone. She fidgeted in her seat and tapped her fingers on her knee. She stared into the road ahead of them, terrified that she would see the blinking taillights of the last bus out of Gravity Falls as it hauled itself away. She willed Soos to drive faster.

It took three minutes for him to break his silence.

"You want to know how Dipper's been doin'?"

Wendy sighed. "You're going to tell me whether I ask you or not, right?" She looked across at Soos and he returned her a lopsided smile. "Soos, just drive, okay?"

Soos's smile dropped, he stared ahead at the road, and Wendy was sure she sensed him driving faster still.

As they approached the small station building—little more than three large rooms, baggage sorting, toilets—the lights started going out.

"No!" Wendy shouted. She banged her hand on the dashboard, urging Soos to drive faster

"Wendy, this doesn't look good, " he said.

"I didn't see it take off!"

"Street heads east, we're coming in from the west. It'd be a mile away, at least. And the—"

"But they must have known I wasn't on board. My ticket . . . They should have waited for me. "

"Wendy . ." Soos began, but he drifted off and let her vent her rage.

More lights flicked off, and by the time Soos skidded to a stop in front of the main building, the security guard was locking and chaining the front door. The only illumination left inside was the one emergency light, and this would blink out within the hour.

Wendy leapt from the 4x4 even as it was rocking to a standstill and ran at the doors. "I can't have missed it!" she hollered.

The security guard looked up, shrugged, and walked away without saying a word.

"Hey!" Wendy shouted. She hated being ignored.

The guard turned around, shoulders hunched against the cold and scarf hiding everything but his eyes. "Sorry, ma'am," he said, voice muffled.

Wendy walked to the doors and stared inside. The jolly sign on the door really pissed her off: CLOSED—SEE YOU NEXT YEAR!

"No," she said. "No, no, I am not trapped here for a month. This is a bad dream." She closed her eyes, opened them again, and everything was real.

The car door slammed behind her and Soos approached. "Ohh, there'll be someone you can bunk with, Wendy."

"Don't start, okay?" She turned, ready to give him hell. Soos held out his hands and uttered a nervous laugh.

"Hey, no, I meant Mabel, or something. Or hey, Melody and me could even move the girls into one room and you could—"

The reality of the situation really hit home then, and the practicalities of what was happening, and Wendy felt a creeping sense of panic. "But I can't stay herd I've got bills to put in the mail, a dentist's appointment next week. And my plants will die!"

"Well, you can call somebody from our place to handle some of that, can't you? You gotta know someone in Portland who can help?"

"Damn it, Soos." From anger, to panic, to hopeless in the space of thirty seconds. _Shit, Dipper really did a number on me didn't he? Or did he . . . ?_ Maybe it was the other way around. She wanted to scream. Hell, she wanted to shoot something. "Damn it!"

Soos stepped closer and gave her a friendly rap on the shoulder. "Come on, it'll work out." He paused, and Wendy could see him debating whether or not to say something. No, Soos, she thought, Not right now—

'Course, the price of rent at my place might be explaining to me and Melody what the heck's wrong with you and Dipper."

And there it was. "Not enough time in this century to cover that, Soos." She sighed, took one final look back at the darkened airport and nodded at the 4x4. "Let's go before we freeze to death."

* * *

Stanford Pines sat at his desk, staring at the radio and waiting for Dipper to arrive. He had some more news for him, but he knew Dipper was on his way back to the station, and he'd rather tell him this face-to- face. Give him time for a break and a coffee, at least. Stan had lived through many month-long nights in Gravity Falls, and the first day or two always had the potential to be troublesome. But this was something more. As one of the two dispatchers, he heard of everything that happened, and here—the cell phones, the Valentino's dogs, and now the vandalism—he was beginning to see a pattern. It just wasn't a pattern that he liked very much.

He had also heard from Soos that Wendy was in town. Awkward.

Her the other dispatcher, his great niece Mabel, was playing Risk at a desk behind him. Normally he'd have joined in, but he was too troubled to concentrate.

'It'd be easier if you played, Grunkle Stan." She glanced up at him with her dark brown eyes.

"Not right now, Mabel. You know I don't really care for games like that. Besides, don't you learn a lot when you play against yourself?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said. "Playing against yourself builds character and yadda yadda . . ."

Stan grimaced as a wave of nausea passed over him. He turned away, closing his eyes and tensing his jaw.

There were only a handful of people who knew about his cancer.

He was trying to maintain a positive attitude to fight it, and listening to the sympathies of a multitude of family and friends would not help him one bit.

Mabel knew, of course. He'd have never been able to hide it from her.

"Grunkle Stan."

He raised his hand and waved her concern away, and then Dipper arrived. He seemed not to notice. Or if he did, he gave Stan the privacy he knew he desired.

"Try your brother. See if he wants to play," he said to Mabel.

"'The Classic Game of Global Domination,'" Dipper read, mock jolly. He took a blast from his albuterol inhaler, something he only did amongst family. "I'm a little jammed today, Mabes. Can't even keep this little town from going to hell."

Stan stood, pleased that he'd sent the sickness down yet again. Sometimes he won, sometimes he didn't. "Sorry, kid," Stan said. "Grab a coffee, but keep your coat on. While you were busy With that Valentino guy? Pacifica Northwest and Old Man McGucket called about a vandalism problem at the Utilidor."

"Jesus," Dipper said. "Can it wait?"

Stan shook his head.

Dipper sighed, poured a coffee and clicked the lid on his cup. "Okay. Stan, do me a favor and call Point Hope and Wainwright, see if they're having any troubles. This just feels odd." He took the dispatch sheet from Stan. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

He nodded. "I'm fine." He glanced across at Mabel, who was making a great show of examining a game she wasn't even really playing. "I'm having a good day."

Dipper smiled and walked out.

Stan closed his eyes as another wave of nausea came roaring in.


	4. Act I: Last Day of Sun - Pt 3

Dipper stood by his 4x4 and stared at the Utilidor Sewage Plant. For a town as somewhat as remote as Gravity Falls, it really was a marvel of modern engineering, built with oil money that seemed as bottomless as the wells from which the black gold sprang. There was a pump house, a large square building containing the huge shredder, and two connected storage tanks which towered more than a hundred feet into the sky. They were the tallest structures in Gravity Falls, and if it had not been for the flashing aircraft lights that topped them, their heads would have been lost to the darkness. But expensive though the technology was, and cold though the wind may have been, the air here always carried a hint of what the plant was here to treat.

"Phew," Dipper muttered. He zipped his hood up around his face and started for the plant. Weird shit going on here, he thought, smiling at his unintentional pun. The cell phones—how the hell were they stolen from so many people without one of them seeing who'd taken them? Then the Valentinos' dogs. Strong, hardy, vicious if provoked. Now ... this. Whatever "this" turns out to be. The door to the pump house swung open and Fiddleford McGucket emerged. He was a small, wiry figure of a man who Dipper rarely saw wearing anything other than a pair of brown overalls. How he had never frozen to death was a mystery. Dipper shouted over to the Murdock twins, Jace and Jessandra, who were working on a huge sewage pipe one hundred feet to the north. "Guys, you wd can't get that pipe fixed tonight. Seal it off from the town and come back tomorrow, Have a beer. Dream of retirement."

"Good enough!" Jace called. He waved to Dipper, and Dipper waved back.

"Lord, McGucket, it's gotta be ten below out here. Can't you get a sweater or two?"

"Damn things give me a rash. Besides, I'm such a fine figure of a man, why cover myself up?" He smiled, then turned around as Pacifica Northwest appeared in the doorway behind him.

"Hey, Pacifica," Dipper said.

But there were no niceties. "You need to see this, Dipper," she said, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder.

"Yes, you do," McGucket said, and the smile dropped from his face. "Let's go inside,"

* * *

The pump house was where McGucket controlled and monitored Gravity Falls's sewage system. Shit Central, he called it. His control panel was scattered with knick- knacks and old photographs, shots of his son in school, his wife riding a horse, and a couple of casual snaps from their wedding. A crazy old coot he might be, but he obviously missed his family.

"Ever planning on visiting your son again, McGucket?" Dipper asked.

McGucket shrugged. "He'll come when he's ready, I guess."

"A family oughta be together."

McGucket nodded, turned away, and followed Pacifica through another door into a smaller, noisier room. There was an open trapdoor in one corner and racks of tools, protective clothing, and coiled rope fixed to one wall, and beyond another door Dipper could make out a couple of shower stalls.

Another wall was taken by a bank of shelving, and here there was a variety of strange, unlikely objects. Books, kids' toys, clothing, a picture frame without a picture, a pile of CD cases, a scattering of eating utensils, a smashed food blender . . . most of them impact damaged or stained by dirty water, all of them worthless.

McGucket waved a hand at the shelving, "Welcome to my Museum of Shit. So . . . I've found all kinds of garbage here over the years. Amazin' the sort of stuff people try to flush away, y'know? Blue jeans. Bikes. Sometimes I can yank 'em out before the Muffin Monster chews 'em up."

"The Muffin Monster?" Pacifica asked.

"Nfmmhmm. Something falls in, it gets shredded." He pointed at the open trapdoor in the corner.

"Is that where that delightful smell is coming from?" Dipper asked.

McGucket sniffed, shrugged again. "Can't say I notice it. Come on. I've already told Pacifica what I found, now! can show you both."

The three people stood before the Muffin Monster, a high-torque, four-shaft shredder. It was not as noisy as Dipper had been expecting, and the smell wasn't quite as rank either. Perhaps, as McGucket had hinted, you got used to it after a while.

"Welcome to Gravity Falls's stinking underside," McGucket said.

"Like somethin' out of Blade Runner," Dipper muttered.

"Not quite as high-tech," McGucket said. "Every pipe ends here, and the Muffin Monster chops it all up. Main sewer from town has a couple of baffles, stops bigger stuff coming through, and earlier I found this." He lifted a trash can and showed them the contents. "Saw the Northwest logo on it, pulled this stuff out before it got totally trashed, so I called Pacifica and she said not to touch it till I called you."

Pacifica took the trash can from McGucket and emptied the contents onto the floor; a tattered seat belt, pipes and leads, a chunky metal device that looked as though it belonged inside an engine, dashboard controls with a Polar Tours logo on it, and a bloated wet book with the words Top of the World Tours fading on the cover.

"You keep your copter under lock and key; don't you, Pacifica?" Dipper asked.

"Yeah, of course. I put it in dry dock when the tourists headed south. I haven't looked at it for days. Then McGucket called me, told me about this, and swung by on the way over here. It's a mess."

"Could you fix it up if you needed to?"

"Not without parts from Portland. This is my living now, Dipper. Why would someone rip the hell out of my bird?" Pacifica stood and threw some of the pieces angrily into the Muffin Monster, which chewed them up with startling speed. Why indeed? Dipper thought. The phones; the dogs, now Pacifica's helicopter. _Almost like someone doesn't want us to leave. Shit._

* * *

Back in his 4x4, Dipper reached for the radio to call Soos. As he grabbed the mouthpiece it crackled and squawked, startling him. _"Dipper, you there kid?"_

"Here, Grunkle Stan." He could hear the concern in his voice. "What's up now?"

_"Some stranger's causing trouble up at Greasy's. Susan thinks he's a vagrant, but she says there's something familiar about him."_

"A vagrant in Gravity Falls?"

Stan uttered a brief laugh. _"Yeah, I know. But that's how she described him."_

"Hell, a stranger in Gravity Falls at this time of the year is weird enough," Dipper said.

_"I'll tell her you're on your way. "_

"I'll be there yesterday." Lazy Susan was a tough, willful woman in her sixties and in many ways she reminded Dipper of his grandmother. She'd run Greasy's Diner for two decades, and while serving oil workers all that time, she'd had her fair share of disturbances. Usually a harsh word from her was enough to calm things down. For her to call something in, it must be pretty serious.

_"How're are things at the Utilidor?"_ Stan asked.

"Just a bit of graffiti," he said. "Nothing to worry about."

_"Oh. Ok. Out."_

Dipper wasn't sure why he'd lied. Perhaps lying to himself? Several hours in, and already the Dark was starting to feel like it had settled down for a long, long time.

* * *

Beyond the northernmost limits of Gravity Falls lay the satellite dish tower, bristling with antennae and topped with the dish itself. Not far past the tower ran the Trans-Oregon oil pipeline, a visible indicator of the riches to be found in the area. The tower boosted all cell phone signals, and was also the relay station for all the radios in Gravity Falls —police, medical, and the several radio hams who liked to keep the outside world apprised of events in this unusual town.

Gabe Benson had retired to Gravity Falls and taken the job of maintaining the tower. As he liked to tell people in the town, he'd come as far north as he could, then gone a little farther. He liked to think of himself as the northernmost working man in North America, yet most of the time he had to admit there was little real work to be done here. He was certainly no communications or electronics genius, and any real problems that arose were usually fixed by men flown in by the Oil companies. He was the caretaker here, really—cleaning up the control room, making sure the doors and windows were kept free of ice, keeping the heating cranked up—and he was just fine with that. After all, that dream of being a world renowned puppeteer didn't work out as well as he thought it would.

He flicked the external lights, glanced outside and saw that it had started to snow. Little flurries for now, but he knew this was just the beginning. "Here it comes," he said, turning the lights off again.

Gabe sat at his table and poured some tea. There was portable DVD player before him and a book upended fifty pages from the end, but Gabe sat back in his chair and sang himself an old swing-band tune as he waited for the tea to steam-cool. He'd already guessed how the book would finish, and he'd seen hid DVD collection three times over. Sometimes he thought about what he'd do when this all became to much for him. He was still fit and healthy, but his joints played him up now, and every time it snowed his left eye ached. He didn't have a clue what that meant. A time would come when he'd have to move again. Back into Gravity Falls, perhaps, or maybe back down south. He shook his head. No point thinking about that right now. He was in his twilight years, and now more than ever he was trying to live for the moment.

He finished his song. The tea smelled good. Ah, screw it-maybe he'd give that book one more try.

There was a noise outside. Gabe opened his eves, holding his breath. "Wind?" he said aloud. He guessed so. The air sang all sorts of songs around the antennae. "Damn storm's corning in faster than I thought." Gabe talked to himself a lot. He had always liked his own company, and he rarely answered back. He reached for the cup, and that was when he heard the distant howl, starting low but rising in tone, until he could no longer hear it.

"What the fuck?" He stood and on instinct dug his old revolver from the table. drawer, and tucked it in his belt. Another howl, this one farther away. Wolves? They'd been seen around Gravity Falls before, but none since last year. Maybe now the Dark was here and the storms were descending, they were corning closer to the town in search of food.

Another howl. This one seemed to come from right outside.

Half the illuminated dials on the control desk flicked out.

Gabe gasped and stepped back, nudging against the table and spilling his tea. "Shit." He thought of calling in to Dipper, but the damn long night had only just begun, the Storm was corning to, and he didn't want to seem like a panicked man.

"Probably a power surge," he muttered. There were arrangements to deal with this, fail safes, backup computer programs that would automatically reboot and reset the whole system—

But what the hell had made that noise?

He shrugged on his parka, zipped up, transferred the revolver into his coat pocket, and went for the door. If there were nasty critters out there, they may be damaging the tower. One shot would probably see them off. "Whatever they are," he murmured.

Gabe opened the door and snow wafted inside. He stepped out and closed the warmth in the tower. He'd be back inside in a minute, brewing a fresh cup of tea, maybe settling down to watch The Thing for probably the tenth time, and then planning on what to have for dinner.

He crunched through the snow a dozen steps from the tower, turned, and looked up at the array. "Seems okay," he said, but yet again he admitted to himself that he was no expert.

Gabe heard the secretive crunch of a footsteps behind him. He gasped again, breath stalling in his throat, and spun around. He tugged the revolver from his pocket and brandished it at the shadows. "Nothing there,' he whispered.

Another series of crunches, more distant, as something walked with steady determination.

He turned and staggered for the tower, and spotted the set of footprints crossing his own, The outside lights weren't that powerful, but he was sure he saw the shapes of toes in those prints.

Human toes.

He hurried on, reached the safety of the door, sighed in relief, and the shadows came at him from around the side of the tower, growling and drooling and reaching for him with inhuman hands.


	5. Act I: Last Day of Sun - Pt 4

Greasy's Diner was much more than a place to eat. It was the main restaurant in Gravity Falls, as close to being the center of the community as anywhere. When the sun was up, workers and their families cam here to eat, drink, and catch up. During the thirty days of night, when Gravity Falls hunkered down and let nature take the lead, it was an important meeting place for those made lonely by the Dark. Its owner, Susan Wentworth, was well loved in Gravity Falls because she never took advantage of anyone. Those whose families went south for the Dark often ate in her diner every day, eager for the company of others, and Susan never raised her prices. Sometimes she even lowered them, if times were hard. Her diner was as much a part of Gravity Falls as the oil derricks, the pipeline, and everyone who worked them. In many ways, it was the heart of the town.

Now, the heart had a murmur.

They were used to strangers in Gravity Falls- tourists, transient oil workers often drifted in and out of the town depending on labor demand. But _never_ at this time of year. The man who'd walked in half an hour earlier was recognized by no one. He'd taken a seat at the counter, and Susan had been around the block enough times to spot trouble when it reared its head.

This time, she smelled it as well. The man stank. Within five minutes of his arrival—and his silent contemplation of everyone in the diner, that smile, those eyes that seemed to bore right into your own—Susan had slipped out back and put in a call to Dipper. She was used to handling the rough stuff on her own, but that was with people she knew. This stranger could be packing, and no one needed that.

"No whiskey? No rum?" His voice was a sibilant, slimy whisper, yet audible to everyone in the diner.

"l told you, alcohol's illegal this month. You're not from around here, so there's plenty you don't know. Folks have a hard enough time in the Dark without booze making it worse."

"Oh, come now. Booze always makes things better," the Stranger responded.

"Ask me if I'm surprised you think that."

The man stared at her, and Susan averted her eyes. _Damn him for staring me down_, she thought, but there was something distinctly unpleasant about him. As though he'd seen everything and she, spending much of her life up here, had seen nothing. He looked to be half her age, but his eyes held twice her experience. But he seemed so familiar. . . .

"Forget the liquor, Susan. Bring me a bowl of raw hamburger. "

"You can only get meat two ways around here, mister; frozen and burnt."

The Stranger sighed and shook his head, looking down at the counter again so that his long hair obscured his face. Susan glanced around at the uneasy patrons— the ones who hadn't already quietly left—then at the door. _Come on, Dipper_, she thought, _This is going to turn into a shit storm, I can just—_

"You won't give me what I want to eat," he said, the gritty whisper seeming to reverberate off the counter. "What I want to drink." He looked up, reached out, and ran a grimy nail through the air inches before Susan's face. "What kind of hospitality is this stinking shit pit of town able to offer? Not much left anymore since the last time I been here."

Something in the air changed. Susan gasped, and for a split second she was terrified. Then she saw a big shadow shift behind the Stranger and she realized that help had arrived.

* * *

"That's enough, pal," Dipper barked. "Leave the woman alone,"

The Stranger slipped from his barstool and stood. Dipper was six feet tall, but this guy had a good four inches on him. The Sheriff sized him up with one glance; scruffy, unkempt, a confident look in his eyes, a sly smile, and stains on his coat that could have been blood.

"Time to hit the road."

"What's wrong with a man wanting a little fresh meat? A drink or two?"

"I'm sure Susan has told you that no one drinks around here in the Dark. Not townsfolk, not Strangers."

"That so? Well, lucky for you I don't happen to be a Stranger in this quaint little town, Sherriff Pines."

Dipper stared at The Stranger and The Stranger chuckled. It was not a nice sound, and Dipper tried to shrug off the tingle it sent down his spine. The door opened behind him, but he did not turn to see who else had left. Besides, the Stranger was glaring right at him. Dipper was damned if he was going to let this punk stare him dow- wait.

How did this Stranger know his name?

"Oh. Did I strike a nerve? You don't remember me, do you? Well, why don't you take a closer look." The Stranger took a step forwards and glares at Dipper. Dipper stared back as he tried to recogni-

Gideon.

Dipper saw his face behind that long hair. Just because he he had gotten older, that baby face was instantly recognizable. The Stranger was Gideon Charles Gleeful. But that doesn't make sense. He's suppose to be in prison.

"Oh, looks like you figured it out. And I'm also betting you'd like to know how I got out."

"It doesn't matter right now. I just want you to leave the diner. If you refuse to leave," he said quietly, "I'll escort you out of here myself."

Gideon stepped forward, halving the distance between them, and Dippers hand slipped three inches closer to his gun. "I'd like to see that," the Gideon said.

"l would, too," another voice said.

Gideon glanced up, his eyes registering an instant of surprise as a gun was placed his skull. Even then Wendy had to point it upward.

Soos stood behind her, his own weapon not yet drawn. He looked terrified.

"But then," Wendy continued, "Susan'd have to clean up after Dipper kicked your ass. It's more trouble than you're worth."

The Stranger's lips compressed, his bearing changed as he tensed his muscles, and Dipper threw Wendy a glance. _What the hell are you doing?!_

She nodded, held his gaze for a second longer than she needed to, then looked back at Gideon. "Not a fucking breath," she said.

"Oh, nervous? Need a gun to help fight your battles? Hm. Things haven't changed, have they Gwendolyn?"

Gideon suddenly hissed loudly as he felt the muzzle of the gun press into the back of his head. "Don't ever call me Gwendolyn again, you fat motherfucker. Do it, and I swear to God, I'll kill you. Screw what Dipper says." Wendy was seeing red, and her voice was a low snarl.

Dipper pulled the man's arms roughly and snapped on the cuffs.

"Nice and tight," Gideon said, and this close Dipper could smell his breath. Stale. Rotten. No booze. How the hell did he get here? This environment had a way of playing with someone's sanity. Dipper squeezed the cuffs until he heard the man's sharp intake of breath, then stepped back.

He nodded to Wendy, who was glaring at Gideon. She took three steps back, now pointing the gun at his back.

"Fire Marshal's office lets you carry that?" Dipper couldn't help asking.

Wendy shrugged and gave him a small smile. "Funny thing, I never asked them."

Dipper looked at Soos. "I'm sure my able body deputy could have helped me."

Soos shifted from foot to foot, still fingering his side arm. "Yeah, but . . . well, Dipper, it's Wendy."

"Go home to Melody, Soos. Been a long day."

"Longer night to come," Gideon said. He uttered what may have been a giggle. Dipper glared at him.

"Shut the fuck up. You're already in enough trouble" Gideon looked up at the ceiling, closing his eyes.

Dipper offered Wendy a smiled thank you for her help, which she returned as a shrug. "Missed your plane?" he asked. "That sucks. Where are you gonna stay?"

"Soos said he and Melody would put me up."

Dipper nodded, not trusting himself to say anything more. This will make everything even more confusing, he thought, but right now I'm glad she's here, He glanced at Gideon, then back to Wendy.

"Need to get him to the station. Well. Talk to you sometime, I guess. "

"Maybe the lady don't wanna talk," Gideon rasped. Then he chuckled again.

"Dipper, Wendy, you two wanna dance around each other outside?" Susan asked, "Right now I want this guy somewhere I can't see or smell him."

Dipper smiled apologetically at Susan and glanced around at the other patrons. "Carry On, folks," he said.

"Carry on, folks," Gideon mocked. Dipper shook his head.

"Listen asshole; I've had a bad day and you're really grabbing my shit."

The man tittered and nodded at the door. "After you?"

Dipper held out his hand, a silent after you gesture. Gideon smiled and walked for the door.

"Maybe I'll tag along," Wendy sad. She put away her pistol and zipped up her coat. "Say hi to Mabel and Stan?"

Dipper nodded, but he had mixed feelings. He had work to do—lots of it, after the day's troubling events. And while he was already attributing much of them to Gideon, there was still paperwork to be done and an interview to carry out. Having Wendy at the station. . . .

Well, she and Mabel got on well. It would keep Mabel out of mischief, at least.

The three of them left the diner, each swaddled in their own thoughts.

* * *

"Jesus," Susan said when the door swung shut behind them. "Talk about cutting the atmosphere with a knife. " The Dark always brought a bit of trouble. She hoped that this year, she'd had hers early.

* * *

The journey from the diner to the police station was less than a mile, but Dipper still used a second set of cuffs to lock Gideon to the roll bar in the back of the 4x4. He was taking no chances. Too much weird shit had already happened today to do that.

With Gideon inside, Dipper jumped out and slammed the door, turning to face Wendy. But she had already circled around the back of the truck to get in the passenger side. "Guess Wendy rides shotgun, Dipper muttered.

He remained there for a few seconds, looking around the silent streets and watching the snow start to fall. He loved the beginnings of a storm, that moment between good weather and bad, and he could actually see the snow front advancing up the street. At least the bad weather would hopefully keep everyone inside. And now that he had this guy in cuffs and soon to be behind bars . . . .

Well, hopefully things would calm down into the Dark.

They drove in silence for a minute or two, neither Dipper nor Wendy eager to speak first. Stubborn: she'd called him that many times. Well, fair enough.

While he'd been locking the prisoner into the 4x4, he'd noticed marks on his wrists and hands that could be dog bites. Gideon had looked down at his knees, offering nothing. Now was not the time. He'd have plenty of opportunity to question him back at the station. Thirty days, in fact. There was nowhere else for him to go, and Dipper didn't like the thought of releasing him back into Gravity Falls. As long as he could pin something on him quickly he'd have the authority to keep him locked up for the duration of the Dark.

Dipper glanced at the man in the rearview mirror. The silence was becoming uncomfortable, "Haven't seen vandalism like this in a long time," he said. Gideon said nothing.

"Don't you know how to take care of this town without me?" Wendy asked.

He was sure she hadn't meant it as a slight, but Dipper took it that way. And if he'd been in a self-pitying mood perhaps he could tell her how being apart had shattered him, blown his confidence out of the water and left him high and dry, emotionally parched in a landscape of ice and snow. He could tell her that . . . but there was so much more besides. And with him and Wendy, things had been complex. Once they eventually started talking—and he hoped they would, maybe one day soon—he had a feeling the discussion would either be brutally short or very, very long.

"I think somebody screwed with the brakes on the trencher," she said.

Dipper nodded, glanced again in the mirror. Gideon's head was still dipped, lank hair shielding his face, He knew Gideon was not asleep.

"Hell of a day," Dipper said.

"Just wait." The voice was as slimy and rough as before.

"Keep it shut," Dipper said.

_ Just wait._ What the hell did that mean?

Dipper glanced at Wendy and shook his head slightly. Let's talk later, the look said. Wendy nodded. Damn, they could almost read each other without saying anything.

No wonder the good thing between them had broken apart.


	6. Act I: Last Day of Sun - Pt 5

None of them spoke again until Dipper had slammed the cell door in Gideon's face. It was only a holding cell in a corner of the station's main office, and yet again he wished they could stretch to building a proper cell block. This was little more than an area partitioned off by bars. If they had to keep Gideon locked up here for the next thirty days, it would make for an uncomfortable time for all of them.

The tall man sat slowly on the cot, hands still handcuffed before him, hair hiding his face. Dipper couldn't help thinking that the son of a bitch was smiling, and the idea was unsettling. _Just wait_, he'd said back in the 4x4. A comment that left so many things unsaid.

And there was other stuff unsaid as well. Stan and Mabel hadn't spoken since he and Wendy had entered with their prisoner, and Dipper could feel the loaded silence behind him. They'd want to know why Wendy was back, what she was doing helping him with a prisoner, what about her and Dipper? He could feel the questions building up, loading the air fit to burst.

"So," Dipper said. He was certain that questioning would be useless right now, but he had to break the silence. "How did you get here?"

Gideon said nothing. Dipper glanced back at Stan who raised an eyebrow and looked at Wendy. _Not right now_, he thought. _Please, Stan. Not right now, in front of this scumbag._ For some reason Dipper didn't want this man to know anything personal about him, or any of his family.

"We've got a long time to figure this out," Dipper said in response to Gideon's silence. "They won't be coming to take you away for a month. Plenty of time locked in there. People watching you eat, sleep, and shit. Must say, doesn't appeal to me very much, but I'm prepared to do it."

Gideon looked up and raised a skeptical eyebrow. The smirk was still there, too, and Dipper had a brief, violent image of wiping it from the man's face with his fist. And at the same time there was something intensely threatening about Gideon, a potential of violence that was almost palpable.

The room remained silent but for the humming of the computer and the soft breathing of all those present. Gideon lowered his head again and looked at the floor, and his shoulders began to shake as he laughed.

Dipper went to his desk and tossed the cell keys into the top drawer. He went to close it but it jammed, and after a couple more efforts he reached in and pulled out a clear plastic bag. It was filled with pot.

Gideon giggled. Something else private.

"What the hell is this?" Dipper asked, looking at no one in particular.

"Pot," Mabel said. "It helps with his cancer."

"It eases the pain," Stan said. "I didn't want to tell you, I've got a little greenhouse outback, Dip. Didn't want you arresting me." He smiled, but Dipper saw a mixture of embarrassment and fear in his expression.

"Pain," Gideon whispered. Dipper ignored him. It was either that, or mace the fucker.

Dipper looked at Mabel. "Now I get why you always wanted to come over."

"WHAT?! Noooo! I just thought you and Wendy oughta have privacy."

Dipper smiled without humor and glanced at Wendy. "Yeah, that worked out real well."

For a second, the lights flickered and Dipper looked straight at the holding cell. _This is when he'll try something, _he thought. Usually, when it got bad, Gravity Falls often experienced intermittent power cuts, and though they only lasted a few seconds, they were unpredictable. The lights returned and Gideon had not moved. But what could he do, cuffed and in a locked cell? Nothing. _Bastard's got me spooked, that's all.  
_  
"Huh! Computer's down." Stan was busy rattling keys and trying to restart his machine, actions as useless as tapping the screen.

"Power surge?" Dipper asked.

"No, don't think so."

"I'll call Gabe. He's fallen asleep again, I expect." Dipper lifted the phone and dialed Gabe's number out at the array, finishing it before realizing that the phone was dead, too. For a second, he considered not letting on. Too much strangeness for one day, and a pattern to the troubles that was slowly turning him from worried to outright scared. _Someone's getting us ready for something,_ he thought, not for the first time. He dialed Gabe's number again, and again nothing. He held the receiver to his ear for a few seconds.

"Phone's dead, too," he remarked to Wendy.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sheriff. So sweet," Gideon drawled, his voice like rubber on glass. "So concerned. I can taste it in the air, the fear. I can smell it on your breath. So . . . helpless. Against what is coming."

Mabel slipped across to Stan, trying not to look at Gideon but unable to tear her gaze away.

"He's just trying to freak us out," Wendy said.

Mabel nodded. "It's working."

"What's coming?" Dipper asked. Gideon just laughed again, shoulders flexing slightly as the humor rumbled through him.

"Thirty days of shitting in a bucket, that's what's coming for him," Wendy said.

Dipper silenced her with a glance. "Well, we've got better things to worry about right now. I'll check on Gabe, find out why comms are down."

"Check on Gabe," Gideon called. He stood, but did not approach the cell bars. "Board the windows. Try to hide. They're coming. And this time they're gonna take me with them. Honor me for . . . all I've done."

"Shut the fuck up," Mabel whispered.

"'They'?" Dipper asked.

"Well you might ask. They been here long before us, Dipper Pines. God made them to . . . thin the herds." He moved to the bars, clasped his hands beneath his chin, and pressed his face forward with a quiet, twisted pride. "Now they're here."

Dipper looked at Gideon rested his hand on his pistol, and shook his head. "Shut up. Now," he said quietly, injecting as much threat into his voice as he could.

Gideon smiled, shrugged, and said no more. _Just playing along with the game,_ Dipper thought, as the lights went out again. This time they didn't come back on.

"Flashlight," Dipper said, but Mabel had already grabbed one and switched it on.

Gideon was sitting down again, head lowered as though he'd never moved. "Board the windows," he said again. "Try to hide."

The windows went dark as the streetlights blinked out.

"I'll hit the generator," Mabel said.

Dipper nodded and grabbed more flashlights from a cabinet. "I'm heading for the cell tower," he said. "Gabe may need help."

"Help doing what?" Wendy asked.

Dipper glanced at Gideon. "Fixing things," he said. But when he looked back at Wendy he saw the understanding there. Of course. She was sharpest out of them all. Things are going wrong.

"We have to stay here with him?" Mabel asked.

"Sure. We can sit here and mock him," Wendy said. "Like, who's he trying to look like in that coat? Some ugly extra from Fat Albert?"

Mabel grinned at Wendy, then glanced at Dipper. Glad she's back, that look said, but Dipper didn't bite. "Stan," he said, "as soon as the lines are up, get Soos over here. Stay on the walkie-talkie with me till the power's back."

Stan nodded as Dipper exited.

Damn it all, he hated leaving the people he loved in there with Gideon, but it had to be done.

Besides, Wendy was there as well. She could certainly look after herself.

Dipper drove through the darkened streets, seeing lights flickering at many windows where the residents had got their individual generators up and running. Shadows flitted here and there, and a couple of them waved at Dipper. He waved back, half-blinded by the glare of headlamps against the snow.

Leaving Gravity Falls felt like going out into the wilds. It was a feeling he experienced every now and then, but never quite this strong. He knew the dangers of living up here, knew that going beyond the town, past the drilling sites, and into the desert of snow was a risk unless you were very well prepared. But tonight it felt as though there were dangers out there that no one could be prepared for.

The snow had started properly now, reducing visibility and laying a thickening blanket across the road that slowed his progress. It was over a mile to the array, and Dipper had to concentrate every inch of the way.

The first thing he saw was Gabe's truck. _Good, _he thought, _he's still here._ What was not good was that the array building was in darkness. The generator had not been started, and that meant that Gabe was either happy sitting there in the dark, or something was terribly wrong.

Dipper parked the 4x4, grabbed the flashlight, and drew his shotgun. He checked that the safety was on and held the gun on shoulder as he exited the vehicle. He didn't want to look too threatening to whoever might be here…although with what was happening in town, he didn't for a minute think they were here for anything friendly.

_Just in case_, he thought, comforted by the weight of the weapon.

He pointed the flashlight ahead of him, lighting the way between where he stood and the square building. The entrance door was around the corner, and between Dipper and the building was a smooth blanket of snow. If Gabe had been out to his vehicle for any reason, it had not been recently.

He checked out Gabe's truck. Door locked, no one inside.

"Gabe!" he called. The snow dampened his voice and swallowed any echoes. No response.

Dipper started walking, and when he rounded the corner of the building, he froze. The fence that separated the array from the northern wastes had been torn down. The wind, he thought, then he shook his head. Aiming the light along its length, he could see that holes had been ripped through the metal mesh here and there as well. It wasn't the wind, and no polar bear had ever done damage like this.

"Gabe!" he called again, a loud whisper this time. He looked over his shoulder at the trucks, and already his footprints were being made hazy by the snow.

A breeze breathed across from the north and something creaked above him. He stepped back and looked up, raising the flashlight and shotgun as one, and gasped. The dish was broken and bent, aerials snapped, and wires sparked feebly here and there. A wisp of smoke rose from one wrecked connection, whipped quickly away into the snowstorm.

"Holy shit, what happened here, Gabe?"

And the danger came down and struck him then, full force. An unknown variable for sure, but Dipper knew that Gravity Falls was in big, big trouble. Someone had systematically destroyed their means of communicating with, or traveling to, the outside world. Gideon was part of it, but there must be others to have done this much damage. Thieves perhaps, terrorists, some sort of dispute gone bad between oil companies—

And where the fuck was Gabe?

Dipper reached for his walkie-talkie to speak to Mabel and his flashlight swung across something dark in the snow. He hurried over to it, bent down, and saw the rich, dark red of splashed blood.

Lots of blood.

"Oh Jesus." He grasped the shotgun tighter, flipped off the safety, and spun around on the spot. There was no movement other than the shadows thrown by his flashlight. He started walking, following the spatters of blood that still showed through despite the new snowfall. Still warm. Melting the snow where it hits, still warm and—

And he found Gabe, tangled with a mess of wires and torn metal. His clothing was ripped, spewing the pink of raw, ripped flesh.

His head was missing.

For a few seconds, Dipper could not move; could not even process what his eyes were seeing. This was Gabe, and yet the part of Gabe he had spoken to many times, listened to, laughed with, was missing. The part that made him Gabe was gone, and this ruined body was meat steaming into the night.

He stepped back and tripped over something in the snow, going down onto his rump, flashlight falling and resting against his foot. Six feet to his left lay a tangle of metal that had once been fixed to the tower. Atop this tangle, pinned there, was Gabe's head.

Dipper let out a scream, then turned around and vomited.

Gabe's tongue lolled out, one eye closed.

He stood and backed away, desperate to swing his flashlight away but unable to take his eyes from Gabe. So wrong. So wrong!

The caretaker's mouth was open in a scream, his face all twisted up.

Dipper spun around again, shining the flashlight everywhere, aiming his gun, sure that he'd see who-or whatever had done this creeping toward him through the fresh snow. He seemed to be alone.

Then he looked north.

Something moving out there.

He pulled out his pocket binoculars and put them to his eyes. Shapes…shadows…obscured somewhat by the snow, but shifting from side to side as they walked.

_God made them to . . . thin the herds. Now they're here.  
_  
"Here they come," Dipper whispered. Then he turned and ran like hell for the 4x4. 


	7. Act I: Last Day of Sun - Pt 6

_I own nothing. Jace and Jess belong to the ever awesome EZB. If you haven't done so, be sure to check out his story_ "The Return to Gravity Falls"_ where Jace and Jess are originally from. Thanks EZB!_

* * *

"Mabel, Gabe is dead," he said into the walkie-talkie as he drove like a madman. Her astonishment was evident in her silence. "Is Soos there?"

"No, but, Dipper—"

"Tell Wendy to break out the shotguns. Get ammo. And watch that bastard in the cell!"

"Dipper, what's—"

"I'll be there soon," Dipper said, then he signed off. The ones I love, he thought, picturing Wendy, Mabel, and Stan panicking and confused over what he had just told them. But he also had a duty to others.

As he approached the town limits he switched on the external loudspeakers and grabbed the handset.

"This is Sheriff Dipper Pines. This is not a drill. Stay in your homes. Lock your doors. Load your firearms. Gravity Falls is under curfew."

He drove farther, repeating the message several times as he raced on, then a block away from the police station, he saw a group of shadows emerge from beneath a roof overhang. He skidded the 4x4 to a halt and reached for his pistol, then he recognized them as residents of Gravity Falls—Jace Murdock, one of the twins from the Utilidor, and the Robbins family, the little girl Gail giving him a sweet wave as he wound down his window. Jesus, I could have shot them.

"Dipper?" Jace asked, his voice uneven with worry.

"Jace, you got your generator running?"

Jace nodded.

"Good. Get home and lock the doors. Tell anyone without a jenny to meet up at the diner—Susan'll have heat and power."

"What is it, Dipper?" Jace asked.

Dipper glanced at Gail, then back to Jace. "Keep your weapons with you," he said.

"Against what?" Jace asked. Dipper knew that he and his sister had a small array of weaponry in their basement, due to the hunters that manage to find them from time to time. After all, they had to protect themselves somehow. He thought of those shadows, coming in from the north toward the already shattered antenna array, the already dead Gabe…

"Not really sure," he said. "But Gabe is dead."

"Oh, shit." Jace stared at Dipper for a second or two, then turned and quickly ran down the street towards his home.

Dipper pulled away and headed toward the station.

* * *

Just as Jace slammed his front door, he heard Dipper's voice again in the distance. He wiped diesel from his hands—damn generator was leaking.

"Lock your doors!" the Sheriff said, voice tinny and crackly through the loudspeaker. "Load your firearms…" The voice soon faded along the streets, but he had heard enough. He was already having a bad day and Dipper's message made it worse.

Early in the day, he had gone to go see his sled dogs that the Valentino family had in their care for the day. He had soon gotten word that all the dogs were found dead. He hadn't seen it for himself. He couldn't. Ever since he got the news, he'd known that something bad was going down. He was a hard man, true, but he'd never fallen out with anyone bad enough for them to come and kill his dogs. There was a reason behind that slaughter, but he couldn't see it. But he knew one thing.

Someone doesn't want us going anywhere, he thought.

And now the lights were out, communications were down, and Dipper was riding around town telling people to lock their doors and load their weapons.

Jace shook, and to begin with he thought it was fear. But as he unlocked his gun cupboard and pulled out his shotgun, he recognized it as something else. The urge for revenge. And the certain knowledge that vengeance would be in his sights very soon.

He walked into his living room to find his sister talking on the phone.

"Thanks mom! We'll keep in touch. Yeah. Yeah, thanks. Okay, bye."

The voice of ths young woman broke as she lowered the phone down onto the counter top. A ponytail of dirty blond hair fell past her shoulder, and she stared out the window before her cabinet. Snow billowed outside, like it always did this time of year.

Jessandra Murdock sighed as she closed her eyes and let her mind settle. It had been a year since she and her brother had settled into the town they once visited, and now they were well adjusted into the community. Which was saying something considering what she and her brother were- harpies.

It must have been a lifetime ago in her mind- the days when Dipper and Mabel had first met them. The years that followed. She grinned to herself and tugged the scarf around her neck in adjustment. She was only thirteen when they met. Now she was a woman, living with her brother in town.

The days were over, but the cold and dark never bothered her. She turned away from the window and marched out of the kitchen, clean and frosty, and marched into the toasty living room where her brother sat by a sofa, having just got home. Before him, a fire struggled to live. She noticed a shotgun in the corner but she didn't ask about it. Yet.

"Jace, you put in way too much tinder," Jess scolded him before prodding the fire herself.

"I wanted it up and running," he whined, stretching his arms out of his wrapped up blanket. As his arms moved out, an abundance of feathers prodded out. Green, gold, red- beautiful colorations in a rainbow coalescence. That was the burden and gift of being a male harpy- beautiful feathers. It was very much like himself- beautiful. He was caring, eccentric person who enjoy life a day at a time.

Her sister was, in her own mind, more fortunate. Whenever she needed to, her more modest golden and brown feathers didn't bring nearly as much attention as her brother's did. Poor guy rarely went out for a stroll on the luke-warm days of summer.

He peered up at her and asked, "so, how's mom?"

"Worried," Jess shrugged.

"Really? About what? We've lived through worse winters," Jace stated.

"I know. She said something about mom senses. That whole parental crap," Jess shrugged.

"Did she say anything in particular?" Jace asked pointedly. Jess looked back at her brother, her eyes adjusting from the bright and warm fire.

"No," she sighed, "just wanted to 'check up' and see if we were still alive up here, or something." She stared as Jace frowned and looked to the window across the room to the right. Jess scoffed- he looked worried. "What? You actually think something is going on?"

His mind wandered towards the dogs. He couldn't. Not yet. "I don't know," Jace shrugged.

"Jace-"

"I don't know," he repeated forcefully, back at his sister rather than the window.

Pouting with her lips, Jess turned and put away the fire poker. She instead lifted a log and hastily put it into the fire. "Getting scared by nothing," Jess murmured as she made sure her feathers hadn't caught from the fire.

"I'm not scared at anything," Jace said. "It's just weird."

"What?" Jess asked, now prodding the log into place. Watching the embers fly about and up was calming to her. It reminded her of times when animals like that flew in the sky still.

"Well.. Dipper," Jace said.

Jess turned quickly. "What about him?" she asked. Jace studied her and grinned. A growl escaped her lips and she shook he head. "I'm still holding a burning metal rod. Don't try me dude- or you'll grow new feathers for spring."

"Okay, okay, relax," he chuckled, but wearily looked to her fire poker.

Jess had never quite gotten over her feelings for Dipper. There had always been a mutual understanding, established when the two moved into town, that it would never work between the two of them. It had crushed Jess's heart to hear that from Dipper- it hurt more when she forced herself to smile and nod in her best understanding way. Dipper and her brother were friends, just like her, but she stayed her distance. He was a wonderful curse- a reminder to what she couldn't have.

Then again... she and Wendy hadn't been together for a while. Jess fought a small smile. There was always hope...

At least, until Wendy came and visited town again.

"It's just something he said earlier today when I talked to him when he did his rounds. But he said not to be worried about it," Jace said with another glance outside.

This snapped Jess from her daydream and to her brother. He was staring out at the window, and she followed to the window. Outside, the woods and snow ate the flooding light from their house. It was certainly a spooky look, but Jess shrugged. She and her brother were among the scary things that go bump in the night. Still... Dipper being late was a little odd. He was punctual and orderly with everything.

Jess turned away and looked to her brother. "He'll come around later tonight, like he usually does. Then you can stop worrying and stop taking mom so seriously." She turned and lowered the curtain, letting the warmth of the room begin to build.

"The last time mom made that kind of statement was back when-"

Jess laughed and shook her head. "I can't believe you. You're actually worried?" Jace shrugged.

"I just have this... feeling too."

Rolling her eyes, Jess lowered the poker against the stone and sat next to her brother. "Calm down. There's nothing to be dramatic about."

Jace shrugged. "I'm not feeling dramatic. I just got this feeling. You heard what was going on by the pipes, right?" he asked his sister.

Rather than look away, she stared at him. She had, as best she could while working hard with her brother, watched the Sheriff come investigate with what she _knew_ was hawk-like precision. Her family's eyesight was better than any human's. What was being said though? As soon as the three, Dipper, their boss, and Pacifica Northwest, went inside, she would have lost any hope of seeing what they were saying.

That is, if she hadn't been bad and snuck nearby and watched them talk, lip-reading every single thing Dipper had said.

"Yeah," she admitted, "someone got at the northwest chopper."

"What?" Jace asked, a grin creeping on his face, "who'd want to go after that family? Might as well sign up for a lawsuit."

"I don't know, but she wasn't happy about it," Jess added, "and Dipper... you know..." Jess paused, her own mind going to work.

"What?" Jace asked.

Jess leaned forward as she laid her feet down on the run beneath their couch. Something she prized herself at was her mind- something that made her so attracted to Dipper. The guy's keen sense of detection and thought was impressive. Then, as she pondered on the memory of spying him at the distance, why he looked so upset? The Northwests could easily buy a chopper again and not bat an eye.

Why did Dipper seem so... unnerved by it.

"Jess, you're doing that brain-thing again," Jace spoke up, pulling her from her concentration. She glowered at him, and stood. "What?" he asked.

"I'll go call," she muttered.

"Oh- well, sure," Jace shrugged as she walked back out to the kitchen.

To the counter she approached, and blinked. The house phone was gone.

"Huh," she murmured. She turned away and looked to the table. Maybe she had put it down by the table?

Wasn't there either.

Jess retraced her steps. It wasn't hard- her mind was strong and quick. Within a moment, she remembered she had lowered it directly in front of her- by the window.

"Jace," she called.

"What?"

"Did... did you take the phone?" she asked worriedly.

"You had it last," he said lazily, "talking to mom, remember?"

Jess shook her head. This... she didn't just forget things. She was more in tune with her mind that than. She recalled everything that had happened today- down to the details. And her mind told her that the last place she put the phone was one the counter right in front of her.

Only it wasn't. It was gone.

She turned to her left, towards the locked front door. She stared at it, and her eyes opened wider and wider.

Over the crackling fire or talking to her mother she hadn't heard it, nor cared to turn and see. The door to the front was open by mere centimeters.

"No," she muttered.

"Huh?" Jace asked, craning his head over the couch to her.

She had started approaching the front door. Somewhere behind her, she heard the clump of Jace's sock-covered feet hitting the wood floor and walking over. Jess yelped timidly- something freezing cold hit her foot. Glancing down, she saw it- water. A small drip of water on the wood.

"Jess? What's-" As Jace walked over, she spun as fast as she could, and held a hand over his mouth while simultaneously putting a finger to her own. Now was not the time to talk, but to listen.

Jess turned back to the door and peered out the tiny crack. Nothing awaited her outside in the woods. She looked down, and her heart sank. There was an imprint into the snow. Her heart raced as her mind began to warn against her own actions. This was a bad idea- a very bad idea. You weren't human, but there were worse things than harpies in the world.

The door was gently pulled open, creaking gently. The warm air was siphoned out instantly. As the ghosts of the outdoor whirlwind whipped past Jess and Jace, she looked down. There were footsteps leading to the house.

"What the hell?" Jace asked, also seeing the footsteps. "Those are fresh."

He was right. Their footsteps from their car had long since been buried.

Jess trembled.

Not from the freezing cold, but the dawning realization. Their small, cheap home had no backdoor. Her hawk-like vision made out the steps to be going in one direction. One way. Leading into their home.

No tracks leading out.

"Jace," Jess swallowed her loudest and shakily turned to him, "car keys.". The instant she locked eyes with him, he saw her fear. While he couldn't tell what had spooked her, he instantly nodded.

He rushed to the closest cabinet and grabbed the keys and the shotgun resting next to it. Jess was torn between watching the dark hallway that lead to their bedrooms or the outside world. Then, to her own hatred to her eyesight, she saw it. Lying on the floor in tiny puddles- water leading to Jace's room.

Something was inside their house. Something, based on the footsteps, human sized. Then she turned to the door, and saw a shaving of their wood. Their locked hadn't been broken- it had been pulled out. Their safety had been compromised.

"Quietly," Jess told her brother, who had tossed off the blanket to the floor.

"What about the fire-"

"Leave it!" she hissed at him. "That feeling you were talking about?" she asked him, pulling him close, "I think you were right." Jace's eyes widened and he gulped. "Run to the car when I say go-"

A squeak of the floorboards behind them, and there wasn't a care to wait. Both sister and brother lurched forward and ran to the car. Their snow-covered jeep awaited them like a prize. Jess raced around the side as Jace almost slammed into the side, mashed the keys into the lock, and opened the car for the two of them.

Inside, Jess watched frantically as her brother stuck the keys in and turned.

Their car made no noise.

"WHAT?!" Jace screamed. "C'MON!" he roared, and twisted his wrist again. Still nothing.

Jess watched him in dawning horror- this had been a set up. Something had entered their house. Their car was disabled. It wouldn't move. Their means of communication was stolen. They had no way of getting in touch with anyone currently, and were in the middle of the woods.

As Jace cursed and screamed, Jess turned past him to their house, the lights still on, and she gasped. The world was frozen. She had to tell him. He had to see what she was.

She prodded his shoulder. Jace looked to her, saw her stares, and turned himself.

There was a being in the doorway. Tall as a man with long fingernails.

Worse still, it was not alone. Standing in their window, another one of these things watched them. Causing the twins to scream, one then jumped down from the roof.

Dark eyes peered into the trembling mind of Jess Murdock.

Suddenly, the window on Jace's side shattered and he was violently ripped through the window, the seat belt whipping Jess in the face. Hearing her brothers screams, she tore off her seat belt and lunged out of the car, grabbing the shotgun, not caring about the creatures stalking her as she ran.

At the corner, she paused, took a deep breath, blinked snow from her eyelashes, and then stepped into the backyard. Where the hell is he?

Jace shouted, muffled and yet close by, and then Jess knew where she had been taken. She dropped to her stomach and pointed the shotgun into the crawl space beneath the house. Trying to regulate her panicked breathing she squinted her eyes, trying to see into—

Something flashed out and lashed at her face. If she hadn't moved back in surprise it would have taken her eyes, but she still felt a burst of blood from her nose and right cheek, and her finger involuntarily tightened on the trigger. The gun fired into that enclosed space, the brief flash revealing an image that her terrified mind could make no sense of, its disparate parts orbiting each other and refusing to coalesce….

The shotgun was ripped from her hands and shadows lashed out again, spinning her in the snow and grasping her leg, letting go only when she kicked and kicked again, and now she howled in pain as she felt the hot rush of agony envelop her shattered calf. She blinked against the snow and saw the smeared pink of splintered bone protruding from her leg.

But she could just make out Jace now, fighting and thrashing beneath their house as something fought to drag him in deeper. She could see its human form and was surprised and still shocked, because somewhere deep down he'd been thinking bear, it has to be a bear, she prayed to god it was a bear and the she had been wrong before, because no man was this strong and she'd emptied both barrels of her shotgun into it at point-blank range. That was the image she did not understand, but which now presented itself in its whole bloody glory: that face, briefly illuminated by the shotgun blast into its chest and throat, grinning at her like the face of a dead man.

"Jess," Jace whispered, gurgled, and Jess lunged for him. Their hands clasped, slippery with blood and snow, and then Jace was dragged beneath the house. She stared into the darkness as she called out to her brother. "Jace?!"

Something growled in the shadows. And then there came a crunching, wet chewing, a brief cry, and Jace appeared again, spraying blood and twitching as he slid on the ground towards Jess.

Jace's body stopped at her feet, still shuddering. Throat ripped out. Face lacerated and bleeding. Coat tattered, flesh torn, blood pulsing from his terrible wounds to form a steaming pool in the snow.

Jess was kneeling on the ground like an ice sculpture, unable to take her eyes from the thing emerging from the snow. It had a terrible, ashen face, blood on its chin, and a grin displaying large, sharp teeth.

And on those teeth, fresh meat.


	8. Act I: Last Day of Sun - Pt 7

Wendy guessed it was shock. Stan still sat at the radio even though it was no longer working. His fingers tapped the table in a regular rhythm. He glanced at the radio every few seconds, as though expecting it to crackle back into life. Or maybe he was trying to re-imagine what Dipper had told them all.

Gabe is dead.

Wendy and Mabel sat playing Risk, not talking. None of them had spoken, not even Gideon. But when Dipper's call had come in over the walkie-talkie, Wendy heard Gideon giggle to himself, and whisper "Gabe."

Five minutes had gone by. They avoided each other's eyes. And Wendy didn't know why it should be like this. They should be comforting each other, trying to lessen the fears that Dipper's words had planted in all of them.

Perhaps it was because of him. And as if thinking of him brought him around, Gideon began to talk.

"No way out of town, not now. Nobody to come help."

"Shut up," Mabel said.

"Ignore him, Mabel." Wendy touched the pistol she'd put on the table, shifting it slightly so that they all heard the metal scraping wood.

"Who'll go first, I wonder. The woman who thinks a gun'll help? Or sweet Mabel maybe, as much as it would pain me to see? Or dying old Stanley Pines?"

Mabel was trying to bite her tongue, shaking with rage at the man behind the prison bars. Gideon paid no attention as he continued. "Or maybe, they get to Dipper first while he's out there. Oh, I wish I could be thee to hear him scream and beg for his worthless life."

"_**I SAID **__**SHUT THE FUCK UP!"**_ Mabel screamed. She bolted up and accidentally nudged the table with her thigh. It tipped, knocking over the gun. With lightning fast reflexes, Wendy caught the gun as it slid off, while Mabel lobbed a handful of tokens at Gideon. Some rattled against the bars, most went through, and Gideon reached out quickly and plucked one from the air.

"Thanks for the plastic Mabel," he said. With a snick he snapped the token in two, held one half up to the weak light. "Perfect." He looked straight at Mabel, and his stare was so intense that Wendy felt immediately excluded. "I can use this to pick the lock and get out," he said. "Then the sharp edge will be perfect for cutting." He slipped his hands between the bars and fiddled with the lock, glaring at Wendy as he did so.

"No you won't," Mabel said.

"Mabel, he's just—" Wendy began.

But Mabel was not listening. She darted to the cell and lunged, but Gideon was much faster. He grabbed Mabel's arm, spun her on the spot, pulled her clanging back against the bars and pressed the snapped plastic token to her throat. Mabel desperately tried to fight her capture, but the bars made it difficult to land a blow. Wendy stepped forward before Gideon's words stopped her.

"Flick of my wrist, lady, and you'll be bathing in her arterial blood." The prisoner's eyes half closed, as though luxuriating in some sick image.

Wendy had already lifted the gun and pointed it at Gideon's forehead.

"Mabel," Stan said, but Wendy waved him back with her free hand.

"That's right, Stanley, stay back."

"You need to stop talking now," Wendy said.

"No, you need to shut the fuck up, bitch!" He jerked his hand and Mabel winced, the plastic pressing into the side of her neck. "Lower the gun and pass me the keys. Now!"

Wendy hesitated, glancing across at Dipper's desk where the keys lay in the top drawer.

"Now!"

"I'm not lowering this gun."

Gideon rolled his eyes. "Fine, but just get me the fucking keys!"

Wendy edged sideways, still keeping her gun trained on the prisoner, and reached into the drawer.

"Good girl. Hurry, now. Gun on the floor first, then keys over here and in the lock."

"I can't put this gun down, you know that—"

"You don't and..." Gideon's arm tensed and pulled tighter around Mabel's throat, and Wendy saw the first dribble of blood running down the woman's neck.

She squatted, put the gun down and then felt for the drawer. The keys were where Dipper had dropped them. Wendy walked forward slowly and slid the key into the cell door. _Fuck, fuck, FUCK! _

She kept focused, remembering exactly where she'd put the gun, ready to fall backward and snatch it up as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

"Now turn the key, lady."

"You let my sister go first."

Gideon glared at her, and Wendy shivered beneath his gaze. His eyes...

"Turn. The. Key."

Wendy unlocked the cell.

"Good, now back away—" Gideon said as three bullets struck him, two in his left bicep, one in his right leg. He fell sideways against the bars, eyes wide with shock, and Mabel darted away into her Grunkle's embrace.

Wendy fell back and snatched up her gun, but she didn't need it. Dipper kicked the office door open—shattered glass falling from the viewing window he'd shot through—and stepped forward, gun held in both hands.

"Back of your fucking cell, or the next one goes into your temple."

Gideon looked up, lips wrinkled in anger, eyes blazing. "You wouldn't dare!" He hissed.

"Try me," Dipper said quietly, cocking the pistol in his hands. And everyone in that room knew that he meant it.

Gideon slid backward on his rump, pushing himself to the rear of the cell and leaving a thin trail of blood behind. He was grunting and moaning, and Wendy liked that sound. _So the bastard can bleed_, she thought, and the gun felt heavy in her hand.

"You okay?" she said to Mabel. Mabel nodded, protected behind Stan's embrace.

There was a spot of blood on her throat, that was all. _Could have been worse_, she thought.

Dipper walked past her, gun still trained on the prisoner. He went into the cell, and for a second she thought he was going to kick Gideon.

She was right. Dipper lashed out with his right leg, striking Gideon in the nose. Blood poured from his wound as he moaned in pain. Then, Dipper motioned with the gun for him to stand.

"Raise your arms," the Sheriff said.

"You shot one of them."

"Then it'll hurt. Step forward to the bars, raise your arms, or I'll shoot the other one and do it myself."

Gideon did as he was told, groaning with each movement. Blood was flowing freely down his arm now, spattering to the floor in uneven rosettes. Dipper took a spare set of handcuffs from his belt and locked the prisoner's original cuffs to the bars of his cell. Then he backed out, shut the door and locked it.

"Stan, get the first-aid pack," Dipper said. "Not that this fucker deserves it."

Gideon smiled. Even through the pain, he managed a feral grin. _Should have shot him in the head_, Wendy thought, and she was unsettled by that. Dangerous he may be, but she had never been one for bullying or excessive violence. Shot him in the head when he first came back to Gravity Falls.

"How long have you been here?" she asked.

"Time to talk. Answer the lady." Dipper stood before the prisoner, gun still in his hand.

"Fuck the both of you." The man lowered his head and stared at the growing puddle of blood.

Dipper tapped the man's cuffed hands with the pistol until he looked up. Then he leaned in close, only the cell bars preventing the two men from touching foreheads. "See, it's like this," Dipper said quietly. "I think something bad is about to happen here. I think there'll be bodies. And as far as I'm concerned, I've no problem at all with you being one of them." He reached out quickly, grabbed the Gideon's hair and clanged his head against the bars. "Who're you here with? Who wanted the copter screwed up? And the cell phones burned? The sled dogs killed? And why would anyone do that to Gabe?"

Face pressed against the bars, Gideon still managed a malicious grin. "You'll see for yourself. Won't be long at all. You're dead already, all of you. No point talkin' to dead men."

"If we're dead," Dipper replied, "nobody ever lets you loose from here."

"I'll just take that chance."

Dipper raised the gun and pressed the barrel against Gideon's left eye, breathing heavily, lips pursed.

"Dipper..." Wendy said.

"Don't," Mabel said. And it was probably the fear in his sister's voice more than anything that made Dipper lower the gun.

Gideon said nothing. _Even he knows when it's time to shut up, _Wendy thought. Dipper turned to her and glanced down at her gun. Nodded. _You'll be needing that._ Wendy nodded back and checked her magazine.

Wendy went to the prisoner and took a look at his wound. She reached in and wound a tourniquet around his arm, none too gently. "I can take care of this for now," she said, "but Doc Miller should really stitch it up."

Dipper shrugged. "Stan can call the Doc when the power's back—this fucker can wait till then."

"So what now?" Wendy asked.

"There aren't many places his friends can hide. Soos and I can work our way from South Street toward the pipeline."

"I'll join you, too."

"I can handle it."

Wendy shook her head. Is he really being macho? "Dipper, right now you, me, Mabel, and Soos are the authorities. Be stupid not to take more help. And whatever your faults, you're not stupid."

Dipper glared at her. Oh, that hit home.

"We've got the walkie-talkies," Stan said. "We'll be fine in here." Stan took Wendy's place as he pulled tight on Gideon's bandage and he let out a grunt. "Won't we, Mabel?"

"Fine and dandy," Mabel said. "And if anything happens, you be the first to know, bro-bro." Mabel smiled and flashed him a thumbs up.

Dipper gave her a small grin and looked around the room, considering. Back at Wendy. She nodded. "Keep the doors bolted," he said. "Keep the walkie-talkie on and the lights off. Guys, if he gives you any trouble—and that means farting, coughing, or giving you lip—there's a Taser in the back." He pointed to the prisoner. "Keep it shut or you'll find thirty thousand volts up your ass."

He turned back to Wendy.

"So?" she said.

"You drive. I'm riding shotgun."


	9. Act I: Last Day of Sun - Pt 8

Wendy drove them through the deserted streets. There wasn't a soul around. The streetlights were still out, and heavy swirls of snow turned the few illuminated windows into vague ghost lights in the darkness. Chains clanked on the 4x4's tires, biting through fresh snow to the hardened ice beneath.

She glanced at Dipper now and then, careful not to let him see. He looked strong, determined, troubled. She liked his profile, always had. She'd told him that he could never hide what he was thinking when viewed from the side. She supposed it was something to do with believing he was unseen.

"Stop!" Dipper said, lifting his gun.

"What?"

"Stop the truck!" She knew his tone, knew there was something badly wrong, and she slid them to a halt. He reached over and pushed the windshield wipers onto rapid, killed the lights, leaned forward so that his forehead rested against the glass.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I know I saw something out there. Along the street."

"Night goggles still in the back?" Dipper nodded, and Wendy reached over between the seats and found them straightaway. As she slipped off her hat and fitted the goggles over her eyes, Dipper opened the door and jumped down from the cab. She glanced across at him—glaring skin, shining eyes—then looked forward along the street.

The landscape was washed green by the goggles, the surface of snow thrown into sharp contrast against the blocky buildings, and then what Wendy had thought to be a bank of shadows started to move.

"Get in the truck, Dipper."

"What?"

"_Get in the fucking truck!" _She ripped the goggles off, threw them in the back, hit the lights and was already moving by the time Dipper jumped in. As he slammed his door she did a rapid three-point turn, burying nose and tail into snowbanks, before accelerating back the way they had come.

"How many?" Dipper asked, staring back into the darkness they had just left.

Wendy shrugged. "Maybe—"

Something hit the roof. Snow falling from a building? She glanced across at Dipper. He looked at her, then pointed his pistol upwards.

Wendy flipped the wheel lightly to the left and right, trying to dislodge whatever had landed on them…and then something started pounding on the roof, rapid impacts that put huge dents in the metal above their heads. She glanced up. The metal had already torn in a few places, and she could see something moving out there.

The gunshots were shockingly loud in the confines of the cab. Dipper fired five or six times, then they both heard something slipping from the roof and bouncing from the rear of the vehicle. Wendy put her foot down, glancing in the rearview mirror to see a shape flapping and rolling along the road behind them.

"What. The fuck. Was that." Her heart was pummeling, foot aching where she pressed it to the metal, and Dipper touched her arm.

"Ease up a little," he said. She could hear the fear in his voice. That did nothing at all to set her mind at rest.

Dipper ejected his magazine and inserted a new one. The pistol's barrel was hot. _Second person I've shot today, _he thought, but then he wasn't so sure. Person? He glanced up at the damage to the cab's metal roof—dents, rips, tears as though put there by sharpened metal tools—and then across at Wendy. She's hanging in there.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Fucking dandy."

"Dipper, just what the hell—?"

"Look." He pointed ahead, where a dancing glow was splashing orange and yellow across a snowdrift. As they cleared the building to their left they both saw the blazing car. Wendy began to slow but Dipper shook his head. "Can you get by?"

"They might need—"

"If anyone was inside, they're dead."

Wendy edged them around the burning vehicle, and Dipper could feel the heat even through the windows. _What the fuck is happening to my town?_ he thought.

"Dipper?"

Ahead and to their right the whole façade of a shop had been shattered. Glass and broken timber lay against the snow banked up beside the road, and inside they could make out the flicker of flames. Wendy slowed again, then sped up, gasping.

"What is it?" Dipper asked.

"Bad feeling." Her hands gripped the wheel, her knuckles white.

"We should get to the diner," he said. "I told everyone without a jenny to go there. And I shouldn't have, that was stupid. It's way too exposed."

"Gunshots?" Wendy tipped her head to one side, still concentrating on the road ahead.

"Keep driving." Dipper holstered his pistol and lifted the shotgun, pumping a round into the chamber.

"What're you doing?"

"Just keep driving," he said.

"Dipper, what the hell is this? I'm scared."

"Don't know. And yeah, me too." He smiled at his estranged wife, and he knew that the two of them took strength from that. A brief image flashed across his mind, unexpected and shocking: Wendy lying in the snow, blood splashed all around her and her throat ripped out, Mabel laying next to her, headless. He gasped and shook his head, dislodging the image. Then he reached for the door handle.

Wendy kept moving as Dipper stood in the open door. He glanced at the truck's roof first, just to make sure, then tilted his head to the wind. He nursed the shotgun in one hand, ready to bring it up at a moment's notice.

The wheels crunched through the snow, erratic gunfire sounded from ahead, a howl or scream came from behind them. More gunfire, this time closer and from their right. Dipper aimed the shotgun that way, then he heard breaking glass and a dull explosion, and the horizon to the east briefly lit up.

They passed by Gravity Falls's small church. Its door was open, insides glowing with weak light, and on inside, the minister was crucified on a cross in the center of the room. He was decapitated and sprawled in his own blood. Hanging on the church door by its hair, the minister's head. The cross on the roof was on fire.

More gunshots, this time the sustained echo of several weapons firing at once.

"Dipper?" Wendy said from inside the cab.

"Where's it coming from?" Dipper said. "Where's it coming from?!"

"Everywhere," Wendy said. "Dipper…Stan and Mabel?"

Dipper cursed silently. What was he thinking? He dropped back inside the cab and plucked the walkie-talkie from his pocket.

"Mabel? Stan? Come in. Listen to me, take the keys and lock all the doors. Get the Taser and lay Gideon out straightaway—I don't want him awake in there with you. Then get the spare shotgun and hide. You hear me?"

When he lifted his finger from the transmitter, Stan's scream was his only response._ "Get away from her!"_ There were other noises in the background, noises Dipper could not identify and didn't really want to think about. Stan screamed again, and this time there were no real words in there. Only pain.

"No." He dropped the walkie-talkie as though it was alive and ready to bite.

He didn't need to say a word to Wendy. She floored the accelerator, fishtailing the 4x4 for a few seconds before getting it under control. Left at the next junction, past a burning house, past a body lying spread-eagle in the street, past a car on its side with a shape crushed underneath.

Dipper wanted to close his eyes, but Gravity Falls was his town. So he bore witness.

They waited for a minute, sitting with the engine idling in case something came at them.

Dipper wanted nothing more than to leap from the truck and storm inside the station, but he'd do no one any good by getting himself killed.

Mabel. Stan. He could think only of them. There were people dying in his town, but he could think only of his sister and great uncle. The other person he really loved in the world was sitting next to him, but even through the fear there still stood their colossal differences, like a monument to all that had gone bad between them. He felt immensely comforted that Wendy was with him right now, and he hoped she felt the same. Though all things considered, he guessed she really wished she'd made that plane.

"Looks quiet," Wendy whispered. The station was still lit weakly within by the generator. The front door stood open, top hinge broken and barely holding the door to the frame. The snow before the door was churned up as though there'd been a struggle there.

_No blood_, Dipper thought. _At least I can't seen any blood… _But then he remembered Stan's final scream, and he knew that there must be blood somewhere.

"Whatever happened here—" Wendy began, but he cut her off.

"Don't." He reached for the door handle and snicked it open. Jumping into the snow, he heard Wendy turn off the engine and open her own door.

Dipper went first, low, crouching in the doorway and shining his flashlight inside. Wendy stood above and behind him, watching their backs.

"Go," she whispered. Dipper went. Through the lobby, the waiting room, scanning left and right for shadows that moved when they should not, and even before he kicked open the door through to his office, he could smell the blood.

It was a mess. Furniture lay broken and scattered across the room, windows were smashed and letting in snow between the grilles. Gideon was slumped in his cell sobbing quietly, still handcuffed to the bars.

Dipper sensed Wendy right behind him. He nodded at the cell then went left, checking behind his desk where it was turned on its side, his senses heightened by the threat that whatever had done this might still be there.

He froze. "No. Oh no." Behind the desk there was a large patch of blood and gore on the floor. Shreds of Stan's clothing lay in it, and other pieces were scattered about, torn and seemingly chewed. He closed his eyes but imagined worse, so he opened them again and looked across at Wendy. "Stan," he said. He gasped, vision becoming hazy, and as he reached for his inhaler he saw Wendy's eyes go from sad to furious as she closed in on Gideon's cell.

"Mabel?" she said.

Dipper shook his head. "Not here. Mabel, are you here?!"

Wendy glanced as he shouted, then joined in herself. They both swung around slowly, guns trained ahead of them, calling for the boy. "Mabel!"

"Mabel, are you here? Mabel, are you here?" a voice said, and for a second, Dipper didn't recognize it as Gideon. Gone was the slimy whisper, the threat in every word, and now the man wallowed in some sick self-pity. "They just laughed."

He walked to the cell and kicked the Gideon's hands where they clasped the bars. The man howled in pain, and Dipper pointed his gun. "Where's Mabel?"

"Dipper, if we shoot we may attract attention."

"I want attention," he said. "I want to ask where my sister has gone."

"They didn't take me…they just laughed…after all I did, they just laughed…"

"_**WHERE'S MABEL, YOU FAT FUCK?!"**_ Gideon was crying and laughing or maybe both in response, and Dipper pursed his lips, ready to put a bullet in the bastard's leg. "Who are they?! Who the hell did this?!"

"Dipper…" Wendy said.

"Finish me," Gideon said, shaking hair from his face and looking up. He'd been beaten, one eye swollen shut, lips split, teeth missing. "Kill me. Please."

"Tell me who they are," Dipper said. Gideon only lowered his head and started jabbering again, blood and tears foaming across his lips.

"We can't just leave him here," Wendy said.

"We can. We have to find Mabel, Wendy, and get help."

She glanced dubiously at the prisoner then back at Dipper.

"Finish me off," the man said again, and Dipper and Wendy locked eyes. She shook her head, ever so slightly. _He saw Grunkle Stan die_, Dipper thought. He saw whatever happened to Mabel. He turned around slowly, raised his gun and placed it against the man's forehead.

If Gideon hadn't sighed, Dipper would have pulled the trigger. But in that sound he heard relief at the escape from what was to come. So he lowered the gun and watched the man start pleading again.

"You stay there," he said, "and get whatever's coming to you." He turned the pistol and cracked the prisoner behind the ear. It took three more hits before he slumped down against the bars, drooling blood and mucus. "Now you can shut the fuck up," Dipper said.

"Dipper—"

He stood, turned around, and walked past Wendy toward the door. "Not a word, Wendy. I could have killed him. Easily. And if you weren't standing there behind me…"

"Where now?"

He paused in the doorway. He could still smell the blood. "We need to check at the diner, make sure people are holding up. Ask if any of them have seen Mabel. We'll deal with him when we're ready." But before leaving the station, he looked around again at the chaos, and he could feel Wendy staring at him as he walked outside.

Gideon cried piteously after them. "Finish me…!"


	10. Act I: Last Day of Sun - Pt 9

Tambry had not stopped running. She'd seen Nate snatched away by something, heard the noises which she'd come to realize were the sounds of him being killed, and she'd taken off. Instinct took her. _Nothing I could have done, _she kept thinking as she ran, _I couldn't have done anything to help him. _

Or Lee.

She'd only glanced back once, and Nate had been surrounded by shadows…with something coming out of them.

_Maybe I imagined that, _she thought. _That thing, that face. Heavy snow, and I was shocked, and drunk._ But she was sober now. The terror had seen to that.

_Nothing I could have done…_

She tried for home first, but there was a burning car and spilled fuel on the road, so she turned back. She heard screams and gunshots, and once or twice the roar of motors. She'd hidden from the cars—she had no idea who was driving—and even when she saw the police cruiser speed by, she'd fallen behind a snowbank. She reasoned that whoever had killed Lee and Nate could have taken the Sheriff as well. She wanted help, she wanted contact, but more than anything she wanted somewhere safe to hide.

The streetlights were out and the snowstorm made navigating difficult. Once she saw the glow of a window in the distance and she approached, edging along the side of a building. She paused every few steps, holding her breath and listening for signs of life. Nothing. And when she reached the window she saw why. There was no life in this place, only death. Smashed window, a wrecked room, a splash of blood across one wall, and something wet in a chair, all illuminated by the weak light that flickered as the generator ran out of diesel.

So she ran again, and when she passed the Diner, she saw a face peering out at her.

She dropped to her stomach, panting, crying, feeling the cold burning into her fingers and toes. When she looked up a minute later, the face was still there, and she almost cried in relief when she recognized Daniel Corduroy .

Tambry looked both ways before dashing across the street. Fear drove her on. As she hit the diner door she realized that but for Dan, it would have driven her on forever, beyond the edge of town and out into the wastelands.

The door burst open and someone fell in, snow gusting, wind howling behind them as though it had been seeking access for an age.

Mabel pushed herself back against the wall, trying to crawl even farther beneath the table. Could be one of them, maybe, their eyes their teeth their claws…

"It's Tambry," Dan said. Still he stood back, gun clasped at his side, and Mabel nodded her silent agreement.

_Could just look like Tambry,_ she thought. The girl looked up, all panic and fear and breathlessness from whatever she had been through. She and Mabel locked gazes for a second, but then she looked away. _Could just look like her._

"What the hell's happening?" Tambry said. She tried to stand but slipped, and Dan reached out to help her. He guided her to a table and Lazy Susan appeared as if from nowhere, a mug in one hand and a jug of freshly brewed coffee in the other.

"Drink this," she said, and then she moved on.

Mabel watched Tambry staring at the steam rising from the coffee. Her eyes were far away.

"What's happening?" she said again, voice rising. "Who are they?"

"We don't know." That was Tad Strange. One of the most normal and ordinary people in town. Now he was, nervous shaken and scared out of his mind.

"Shoot 'em and they keep coming!" Dan said. He stood close to Tambry staring down at his gun. Shaking his head. Turning the gun this way and that as if looking for something wrong with it, but Mabel knew that Dan never let his guns get dirty. "I put four into one of them and she…she…"

"How's that possible?" McGucket asked. He was on his third slice of pie, sitting there in a his corduroy's and hat while the rest of them shivered in the meager heat produced by the generator.

"Don't know," Dan said. He was pacing again—had been for ten minutes—and Mabel kept her eyes on the pistol. He'll blow his own foot off, she kept thinking, and the more she thought it the more the idea made her want to laugh. "Maybe they're coked up, or whacked on some other drug," Dan continued. "Something so they don't feel pain. I only got away in the end because they found Kay Lopez, and…I couldn't help. Couldn't save her. They just fell on her and…" He shook his head, stopped pacing, stared down at his gun yet again.

Tambry spoke through the steam from her coffee. "They took Nate and Lee. Must be strong."

"They took Stan," Mabel said. Everyone in the room suddenly looked downcast. And much of a crook Stan was, he was still a member of the town. Mabel and Tambry locked eyes again, and though she did not smile, Mabel took some comfort from the contact. As if she understood.

And the names came again, Tambry's entrance giving everyone the excuse they needed to run through the list of dead once more.

"Reverend Pfeiffer," McGucket said, "Thompson Hamm, the Dale family—"

"The Valentinos," Dan said. "The funeral home is all smashed up. Doc Miller's, too."

"Is there anybody left?" Tambry asked. She was looking directly at Mabel, but Mabel knew now that Tambry wasn't really talking to anyone. Mabel saw panic in her eyes, and disbelief. She wished she could go where she seemed to be going. Slip away, go insane.

And then Mabel heard the doors smash open again, and a voice she recognized accompanied the angry roar of the weather.

"Kill the lights. And get the fuck away from those windows!"

Mabel stood, ran for Dipper and barreled into him, crying and hugging and welcoming her brother's embrace.

"Mabel! Oh Mabel, I thought…"

"They got Stan," Mabel said, pressing her face into Dipper's chest. The lights went out and her tears blurred her vision even more.

"I know." Dipper hugged her tight, and when Mabel turned her head she saw Wendy looking at the two of them with tears in her eyes. Mabel smiled and she smiled back. She was carrying her pistol in one hand.

"Has anyone seen Soos?" Dipper asked. Nobody answered. "McGucket? Dan?"

"No," McGucket said.

"Not me." Dan was pacing again, looking at his gun.

"What is it?" Dipper said.

"I shot one. It kept on coming."

Dipper eased Mabel away from his chest, looked down and tried to smile. But Mabel wasn't fooled. "Doesn't surprise me," Dipper said. "Now listen, all of you: we can't stay here. Too many windows, too much open space, and it's the first place they'll come looking."

"Who the hell are they, Dipper?"

"What do they want?" Dan shouted.

"He's not good," Mabel whispered, and her brother moved away from her.

"Take it easy, Dan," Dipper said. "Remember you've got a loaded weapon in your hands."

"Lot of fucking good it did me."

Dipper took control then, and not only because he was Sheriff. Mabel had seen this before; her brother was a born leader. Shy sometimes, maybe not quite as sure of his abilities as everyone else, but he was always the calm one in a tough situation, always the one to offer comfort. There was little comfort to offer right then, but Dipper stayed calm.

"I don't know who they are, but right now that doesn't matter. What does matter is that they're here. I don't know why they're here or what they want, but we're in danger, and we need to hide until we can answer some of those questions."

"We should call for help," Mabel said.

"Anyone here still got their cell phones?" Dipper asked. A couple of people raised their hands.

Tambry spoke up and said, "The antenna array is fucked. I saw the damage on the way here. They'll do no good."

"How about the high school?" Mabel suggested. "The clinic?"

"They already hit the church," Wendy said. "They'll scope out any other public place. Including here."

"Right," Dipper said. "Hey, there's a generator at the Utilidor."

"It's way out on the edge of town," Mabel said. "We need someplace close to hide. Now."

There was silence for a while, broken only by the sound of the wind playing around the eaves, whistling through the chains that held the sign up outside. Tambry stared at the window, convinced that if she looked long enough she'd see those frantic snowflakes merge into a pale, vicious face.

"What about the Shacks old bunker?" Mabel said quietly. "I talked to Ford before he went on that big trip. Its deep under, and with the vending machine door like it is you wouldn't be able tell it's there. . we could all fit."

"He would've boarded up his home before he left," Wendy said.

"Which is why it's a good idea," Dipper said. "We pull down a board to get in, then tack it back."

"Could work," McGucket said.

"Mabel," the Sheriff said, "when I say go, lead people close to the buildings, roll under crawl spaces if you hear anything. Go straight to the Shack and get down in the bunker." He looked down at Mabel's wide eyes. "I'll be with you again soon."

Mabel bit her lip and tried not to cry, to shout _I don't want you to go again._

"Where'll you be?" Dan asked.

"Loading up with all the ammo, flares, and bear traps a 4x4 can carry. Something's gotta slow those fuckers down."

"What about…?" Tambry began, but the room had fallen silent and she seemed unwilling to finish.

"What about everyone else?" Pacifica suddenly said. She had remained quite this whole time, and everyone was startled when she finally spoke up.

Tambry nodded and looked back down at her coffee.

"They'll be surviving," Dipper said. "Hiding away. Arming. We can't all hide in the same place."

"But—" Dan began, and Wendy cut him off.

"Let's take things one step at a time," she said. "Let's do what Dipper says and get away from here."

"Right," Dipper said. "Besides, maybe it's best we don't all hide in the same place." He hugged Mabel hard and went for the door.

"I'll go with you." Wendy said, and followed Dipper out. Mabel knew she would and wished she wouldn't. "I'll cover your back," Wendy said.

Dipper nodded grimly. "One minute, Fid." He smiled at Mabel and then he and Wendy left the diner.

"You okay?" Mabel asked Tambry. As a woman, Tambry was more than aware of her looks—big eyes, nice hair, curves in all the right places—but now she seemed like a little girl. She seemed to be drifting away again, her gaze set way beyond Gravity Falls.

Tambry looked up after a few seconds, as if suddenly remembering where she was. She stared at and said, "No."


	11. Act I: Last Day of Sun - Pt 10

Dipper and Wendy waited outside the door for a few seconds, huddled in shadows. The darkness was heavy, the snow blinding, but there were still lights here and there along the street. Perhaps they had been left on when people fled their homes. Dipper hoped so, at least. If they indicated where people were huddled around lights and a heater, then they would soon draw whatever had come into his town.

"See anything?" he whispered.

"No. Too damn dark." Wendy had brought the night vision goggles with her from the truck, but she'd broken one lens when she dropped them earlier. Dipper was now more inclined to trust his own eyesight.

"Let's go. Longer we stay here, more chance we'll attract attention." He darted to the passenger door of the truck and sensed Wendy shadowing him, swerving away to climb in the driver's side. As soon as he was in, Dipper reached up and killed the interior light. He closed the door gently, rested the shotgun across his lap, and sat back.

"Let's wait until they've all gone. We're a target now," he said.

"At least it'll draw attention away from the others." Dipper looked across and saw Wendy leaning back in her seat, staring in the wing mirror.

After a minute, she stirred and reached for the steering wheel. "They all away?" Dipper asked.

"Yep. Straight into the crawl space beneath the diner. I could hardly see them from here, just shadows. They'll be okay."

"Yeah."

She looked across at him, reached out, and grasped his hand. "Mabel'll be okay."

"Yeah," Dipper said again, dropping and checking the magazine from his pistol, even though he'd yet to fire a round from this one.

Wendy reached for the keys, then paused. "Dead quiet out there," she said. "This'll be loud."

"The snow throws sound around," Dipper said, but he grinned at the absurdity of his comment. As if the people doing this would be fooled by false echoes.

"Here goes." Wendy turned the keys and the engine sounded painfully raucous, coughing as if to purposely attract attention.

"Move it," Dipper said, hands clasping the shotgun. The pistol was heavy in its holster._ I shot one. It kept on coming,_ Dan had said. He smelled burning for an instant, before it was stolen away on the breeze.

Mabel went first, leading them all beneath a house, nervous but empowered by her brothers trust in her.

Pacifica followed close behind. She was terrified.

"Not too fast!" Mabel hissed. "No sudden moves."

"I'm freezing," Pacifica muttered.

"You'll be colder dead."

There was a sudden crack and an icicle fell from above Mabel's head. It shattered beside her hand, dark instead of light. Even without touching it, she knew it was made of blood.

* * *

They turned a corner into Ransom Street and Wendy pressed on the gas. A house was on fire two blocks away, a smudge of light and heat in the snow-filled darkness. Dipper sat up straight, thinking moths to a flame, and then they were both thrown forward as the vehicle jerked to a sudden stop. Wendy groaned, winded against the steering wheel, and Dipper slammed both hands against the dashboard, barely avoiding a bloodied nose.

"What did you hit?" he said, but Wendy was shaking her head.

"Nothing. We're not moving." She gave it more gas, the engine screamed, but they both felt the front wheels spinning on the road, chains slapping at the ice and churning up clouds of shattered ice and snow behind them.

"I'll see," Dipper said, and already he had a very bad feeling about this. He opened his door and leaned out, shotgun aimed before him in one hand.

He could see the shadows behind them, holding on to the back of the car, teeth glinting in the poor light and hair waving in the wind, and they hissed at him as he swung the shotgun around to face them. He pulled off one shot before dropping back into the cab and slamming the door shut behind him.

"Floor it!"he shouted.

"I am!"

"I mean it!"

"Dipper, what the fucks happening?"

"They're behind us, holding the truck!"

"Holding it? How the fuck can they be holding it?!" And then the rear of the truck began to lift.

"Dipper!" Wendy said, but by then they were both slipping into the dashboard, the rear of the truck lifting higher and higher. Wendy's foot came off the gas and the 4x4 stalled, but it made no difference.

"Grab your gun!" Dipper shouted. He positioned himself so that he was facing his side door, shotgun aimed at the dark glass.

The 4x4 was balanced impossibly on its front grille now, metal creaking and tearing in protest.

Wendy's door was ripped open. Dipper glanced back over his shoulder, wincing as she fired at the thing that stood there before her. The sound was shocking, but what he saw was worse: the bullet gouged a finger-sized wound out of the creature's skull. It didn't even cringe. Its tongue lolled, sharp teeth glinting as it opened its mouth wide, swiping the gun from Wendy's grasp.

"Dipper!"

He struggled to turn. The shotgun became wedged against the seat, and then the 4x4 fell forward onto its roof. The windshield shattered and metal shrieked as it struck the road, lights crushed beneath it, and he and Wendy tumbled to the ceiling. Disoriented, Dipper tried to pry the shotgun loose from where it had become jammed.

More glass broke, though he was not sure where.

_Creatures,_ he thought. They're not people. _They may look like people, but they're not._

Shadows flailed and he felt something scraping across his cheeks, a shape thrashing in front of his face before grasping onto his jacket collar, pulling, fingernails ripping through his clothes and pricking into his shoulder. He dropped the shotgun at last and reached for his pistol, but a scream brought him up short.

"Dipper!" It was Wendy, and she was being dragged through her broken door by two of the creatures. They were grabbing at her hair, her clothes, her waving arms, and when they both got a good grip, they tugged.

Dipper aimed his gun at the thing grabbing him and fired. He had no idea whether the bullet found its mark, but it gave him a second to shift. He rolled, kicked out through his own broken window and brought the gun around to bear on Wendy's aggressors. He fired twice, saw a splash of blood on one of the feral faces, and then hands grabbed his knees and thighs and hauled him backward through his window. He fumbled the gun, dropped it, and watched it disappear in shadow.

"Dipper!" Wendy shouted again, and they locked eyes. She was almost out of the cab now, and outside something was roaring. He could feel it through the ground. And whatever was making that sound must be huge.

_Going to die,_ he thought, and Wendy knew that as well. He curled his finger around one of the rents in the cab's ceiling, desperate to hold Wendy's gaze for as long as possible, but he was tugged out into the night.

Something crashed into the 4x4, knocking it aside. Dipper felt his legs swing free of his attacker, and he heard a squeal as the truck spun and crushed it into the ice.

_The snowplow! _Lights glared on, blinding him and causing the attackers to hiss and pull back. He looked through the cab and saw Wendy sitting on the ice, looking around in confusion. "Up!" he shouted.

Dipper couldn't wait to see whether she'd heard; there was no time. He kicked out blindly and crawled beneath the hood, pulling his way through elbow-deep snow toward the huge plow's side.

It reversed and drove forward again, and Dipper heard a high-pitched squeal and scream. He emerged from beneath the 4x4 and saw Wendy in the snow several feet away, looking away from him at where one of the creatures was being pinned against a wall. Its arms were flailing, legs kicking.

Bud Gleeful leaned down from the snowplow's cab, grasped Wendy's hood and lifted her. "Get in!" he shouted, sitting back and giving it some more gas. The plow scraped along the wall, the trapped thing grinding into the crumbling brickwork. Its scream rose even higher, almost passing out of audible range.

Bud reversed and looked down at Dipper. "Quick, goddamn it!"

Dipper kicked out at a pair of feet that appeared to his left and leapt for the snowplow. He held on to the door handle and hauled himself in after Wendy, head hitting her behind, an involuntary laugh escaping him._ Almost losing it now,_ Dipper thought._ Almost there, Marcus. Almost there._

Bud floored it. Wendy was in the cab, Dipper's legs still kicking at fresh air as he tried to climb inside after her. Hands grabbed at his feet and he panicked, kicking and shouting, feeling his shoe connect with something solid. A squeal sounded behind him and he grinned as Wendy pulled him all the way in. She reached across and pulled the door shut.

Dipper sat up, panting, realizing that he'd lost both of his weapons. He glanced across at Wendy, down at her hands, then back up to her face. Her eyes were wide and shocked, and looking at him as though she had never seen him before. He smiled, reached out quickly, and touched her face.

They roared down the street, Bud steering them along as though it was just another day at work.

"Got one of the bastards," he said. "Crushed it against the wall."

"Good," Wendy said.

"It got up again." Bud stared through the windshield, switching on wipers to clear the snow that was falling heavier than ever.

Dipper was wheezing, and he searched his parka pockets until he found his inhaler. Wendy huddled close to him, shivering from fear and the cold.

"Thanks," Dipper said. "Thanks, Bud. We were dead meat back there. They lifted the 4x4, rolled it onto its fucking head, and . . ." He gave a low sigh. "Thanks."

"Well, who's gonna write me tickets if you get fragged?" he said.

"We've got to ditch this thing, Bud," Wendy said. "It just calls them. They'll be following. I think they'll catch up."

"And go where?" Bud asked. He glanced back at them and Dipper saw a haunted look in his eyes, belying the nonchalance he was trying to inject into his voice.

"We know a place," Dipper said. He levered himself up and scanned to see where they were. "You see them following?" he asked.

"Don't think so."

"Right. Keep going straight then stop around the next corner."

Bud stayed straight for a few minutes before he turned the corner and skidded to a halt. Dipper was the first to open the door. He glanced outside. Nothing_. If I don't go now, I never will,_ he thought, and he jumped down into the snow. Wendy and Bud landed behind him, and they both saw what Dipper saw.

A few yards along the street, impaled on sticks driven into the ground, several heads stared at them with upturned eyes and lolling tongues.

"Jesus" Bud began.

"I think he's siting this out," Dipper said. "Nowhere fucking near. Come on."

The three scurried into the crawl space beneath the building in front of them, leaving the decapitated citizens of Gravity Falls to watch for the creatures that must surely follow.

* * *

They were the hungry ones, doomed forever to walk the night and loving every minute. They were gathering at an intersection, watching the town continue to fall to the darkness and snow, certain in the knowledge that the people would be theirs very soon.

The whole town would be theirs.

They had made a good start, after all, and it felt as though this night could go on forever.

All of them had pale faces painted red with their victims' blood. Some had ragged teeth protruding from receding gums, a few had true fangs. All of them had black, black eyes, adapted to the darkness with no use for seeing in sunlight. They hissed. Spat. It was their language, ancient and unrecognizable to anyone else alive…or dead.

Their leader, known only as Marlow, walked in their midst, a tall figure with feral looks, hooded eyes, and the easy gait of someone used to being in control. Others bowed down to him, some crawled at his feet, and he spared none of them a glance.

He growled a few words in their language. "Usaindu o sanguinem. Gustu o carnem. O capitibus behar izan bereizi a o corporis. Ez egin mugitu illis. Da id katanoiti?" He waved his hand at the sky, and most of the group of invaders split up and disappeared into shadows.

The one called Zurial stood there admiring the town. "Badago nahikoa epulatio hemen ut gorde nobis ischyros quia a anno, Marlow…guzti gabe o solis."

Marlow gazed upon the small community, eager to sample the delights that waited within. "Nos izan behar dute etorri hemen aetas duela." Marlow looked down at the vampire at his feet. Iris. Young, inexperienced…his protégée.

"Iris," he said, "Etorri. Ikasi."

The weather was changing. A long, cold storm was about to begin.

* * *

_Good luck translating the Vampire speak. :) Also. A huuuuuuuge that to SugarCocoflower for the Vampire speak. Be sure to check out her profile here. She's gonna some really good work. Stay awesome, and I will see YOU . . . in the next chapter. Bue-bye!_


	12. Act II: Survival - Day 1

It was well after midnight, though Dipper could only tell by looking at his watch. All sense of time had vanished. The Dark inevitably brought on disorientation, but today was worse than usual. As far as Dipper could tell, daylight had vanished forever, and Gravity Falls had fallen into endless night.

A breeze shushed up and down the town's streets, an occasional gunshot came from close or far away, and they heard other things in the night. Shouts, screams, cries, growls, howls. Things they could not place other than in nightmares.

Dipper moved slowly, cautiously through the crawl space. Bud was directly behind him, and behind Bud came Wendy, shivering from where the creatures had ripped off her parka. Dipper had briefly thought of handing his own coat back to her, but he knew what sort of reaction that would get.

Bud carried his shotgun, the only weapon they had left. Not that it would do much good.

_Just what the hell are they?_ Dipper thought again, and yet again no answer was forthcoming. Thieves, terrorists, wild people, junkies, gangsters…nothing he thought of could account for what they were doing, and how. Nothing could allow for their strength, their apparent immunity from gunshots, and their teeth and eyes. Long sharp teeth. Deep black eyes. He shivered and looked around, certain for a second that they were being watched.

"What is it?" Bud hissed.

Dipper waved a hand back at the big man, paused, went on.

"Sheriff!"

"Nothing," Dipper whispered. "Being cautious." He glanced back at Bud, then past him at Wendy. He could only make out her silhouette, but her head nodded and he guessed she was smiling.

They moved on, and every time they came to the edge of a house, they paused for a couple of minutes to look around. Snow fell and danced in the air, whipped up by little storms that seemed to be wandering Gravity Falls at will. Almost like the wild's already reclaimed the place, Dipper thought, but that was too unsettling to consider. Next he'd be seeing polar bears from the corner of his eye.

They waited until they were sure the coast was clear; no shadows moving where they should not, nothing watching from neighboring windows, no footsteps nearby or things crouching beside the buildings. Then they moved on, dashing across backyards and diving beneath the next building. Here and there they had to pry boards aside to get into the crawl spaces, but many of the timbers were rotten anyway, and any that were stubborn Bud could easily break. Where they could, they tried to lift the boards back into place from the inside.

Beneath one house Dipper crawled through something wet and still vaguely warm. He looked up at the floorboards above his head and wondered who it was.

Finally reaching the road that led to the Shack, the three of them hunkered down in the cold and looked across the snow. There were no footprints in the virgin surface, and that was a good sign. No bloodied snow, no burning cars to illuminate them, no heads stuck on spikes to guard the street. It almost looked normal.

"We ready to do this?" Dipper asked.

"I guess," Bud said.

"Absolutely." Wendy was hugging herself now, pressed close to Bud's side while Dipper scanned the surrounding woods.

"No stopping for anything," Dipper said.

The others nodded.

"On three." He counted one finger, two, then on three they ran like hell.

The deep snow muffled their footfalls, offering only crunches that would be swallowed by the cool air. Dipper was wheezing again, and he wished he'd taken a hit from his inhaler. The Shack seemed far away.

Wendy got there first. There was one heavy, wide board nailed across the front door, and she set to work on the nails with her car keys. "Coming out easy," she whispered as Dipper stopped beside her. Bud faced the street, shotgun at the ready.

"Hopefully because the others have already arrived."

"Hope so."

Dipper held the board steady while the last nail came out and moved it to one side to let Wendy open the door.

"Not bolted, either," she said.

The three of them piled into the house, snow wafting in after them, and Dipper held the board back in place while Wendy slipped the nails back in. They went into their original holes, and she tapped them with the heel of her palm. They made no noise. Once the board was back in place they closed the front door.

They stood there gasping and breathing heavily from their tense journey across town. They had seen nothing since leaving the snowplow, but every step of the way Dipper had known that whatever was wrong with their town was getting worse. In between gunshots and screams, the air of the town was haunted.

Now they listened for any signs of pursuit. Dipper stood at the front door and peered through the spy hole, seeing only a snowscape beyond. Nothing moved. No one walked.

He backed away from the door and looked around. There was no sign of the house having been invaded by those things; everything was neat and tidy, just as Ford had left it before he left.

Wendy came to him, opened his coat and held him tight, sharing his warmth. She shivered and he rested his cheek against her head. Bud looked at him, hefting his shotgun.

"We can't try the door just yet," Dipper said. "We've gotta make sure we didn't lead them here."

Bud nodded and moved to the window. He leaned forward and looked out between the curtain and wall without shifting the material. "Looks quiet to me," he said.

"Did when I looked," Dipper said. "That's what bothers me."

Wendy sighed and Dipper held her tight.

Bud seemed to know that Wendy and Dipper needed this moment. He pretended they weren't there, moving from one window to the next all through the downstairs of the house. He never touched a curtain, and when he disappeared from view, Dipper didn't even hear his footsteps. For such a big man, he could move gracefully.

Neither of them spoke. Wendy's shivering soon stopped but she did not let go. Dipper liked the smell of her. There was the sweat of exertion and fear, but beneath that her own scent that he remembered so well.

"Well, it took monsters and slaughter to get us even looking at each other again," Wendy said.

Dipper uttered a short, quiet laugh. "I'd have never known you were here if you hadn't missed that plane."

She pulled back from him then, looking up with an expression he could not read. Angry? Sad? He still wasn't sure. Even after all these years, sometimes she was a stranger to him.

"We should go through the house, see what we can find that'll be of use." Wendy went off looking for Bud and Dipper sighed.

A few minutes later, the three of them met in the family room, each carrying whatever they had found that could be of use. Dipper showed off a pair of kids' walkie-talkies, pressing the squelch buttons to hear static.

"Looks like Stan left something here. Probably pretty short range," he said, "but might come in handy."

Bud had raided the kitchen, finding a box and filling it with canned food and a propane heater from the pantry. He'd thrown in a few carving knives, too, though the thought of using them against those things out there had almost made him sick. There were matches and candles in a basket on the work surface, too, a familiar sight in a place where power cuts were a common fact of life.

Wendy had found one of Ford's thick coats, and shined a weak flashlight at the floor. "Battery's going, but it'll last for a while. And I found this in the master bedroom." She produced a pistol and box of ammunition, handing them to Dipper. "Dip?"

Dipper smiled and shoved the gun into his holster. "Lot of good it'll do," he said.

"Better than fuck all," Bud said. "Maybe a shot in the right place'll do them. Put one through their eye, how can they see?"

"Have you shot any yet, Bud?"

"Nope. Ran a couple of the fuckers over, though." He looked away, troubled.

"They got up again, right?" Wendy asked.

Bud frowned.

Something thudded against the porch outside. Dipper actually heard the door rattle in its frame and he drew the pistol.

"Loaded?" he whispered.

"Damned if I know," Wendy said.

"Excellent."

Bud crept forward, putting himself and his shotgun between the two of them and the front door. They remained like that for a minute or two, listening hard for any other sound. Then Bud crept forward and put his eye to the peephole. He sighed.

"Snow slipped from the roof," he said.

"Damn." Dipper relaxed and felt his arms and shoulders unclenching. He was exhausted, he realized, physically shattered and mentally drained. "Let's get to the bunker. The others may have heard us moving around up here."

"Gets my vote," Wendy said.

They went to the old gift shop, walking quietly because the silence was so intense. Wind whispered around the eaves, creaking timbers and rattling a loose pane of glass in one of the upstairs windows, but other than that they heard nothing but their own footfalls. The floors were uncarpeted. Halfway, Dipper stopped and pointed the weakening flashlight down at the tread before him; there was a smudge of dirt and a small puddle of water. He pointed to the door, nodded, and they continued on.

It took Dipper two tries before he got the code right. "It's hidden well," Dipper said as the door opened. He tapped on the wall with his knuckles. "It's us!"

"Dipper!" Wendy said. "What if—"

They heard a door open, Dipper placed his foot on the first step and pointed the pistol at the door. There was a pause, loaded with the promise of violence, and then a face appeared from the gloom.

"Pacifica," Wendy said.

Pacifica sighed and slumped to the floor. "Thank God it's you," he said. "We've been listening to you stalking around up there for hours."

"Only been here fifteen minutes," Bud said.

Pacifica nodded and beckoned them down. "Well, it seemed like hours."

* * *

Marlow returned to the police station to wrap up some unfinished business.

He took two of his pack with him, leading them like a hunter with dogs in tow. Marlow sniffed the air and then walked straight in, exuding the arrogance of a conquering warlord. Nothing could damage him, nothing here was his equal. He was tall and proud, and decorated with his victims' blood.

The human servant still hung from the cuffs chaining him to his cell bars. His wrists were bloodied from where he had been trying to work himself free. Marlow sniffed and grimaced at the stink. The two with him crept forward and Marlow spat at them in their own ancient language. They held back, taking station in shadows at the corners of the room.

He hated speaking in the cattle's voice, but sometimes it was necessary. "Wake." The language was unfamiliar in his mouth, and it sounded deep and thick.

"You came back for me!" The human's head rolled back, his eyes opened and his mouth broke into a grin. "You came for-"

"I came," Marlow said, "to ask about the vehicles. And the guns. And the other aspects of your task which remain unfinished."

"I…" The human frowned, the smile turning into a grimace as he glanced around the cell as if for help. "I was hungry. And thirsty. And—"

"And you wanted to revel in the pitiful power you thought you had."

"No."

With inhuman strength, Marlow tore the cell door from its hinges and moved inside. The prisoner gasped, amazed, and laughter came from the darkness of the ruined office. The tall creature went to him and held his hair, moving his head this way and that.

"You're hurt."

"It's nothing," the human said.

"True. Hush now. We'll take care of you." Marlow twisted Gideon's head around until it faced the rear of his cell. Bones crunched, skin split, blood flowed, and Marlow backed away from the smell.

_"The things they believe,"_ Marlow murmured.

The two vampires came forward again, obsidian eyes glittering.

Marlow shook his head and growled to them. They nodded and backed away, retreating from the office and leaving the servant's blood to freeze.

* * *

First they made sure there were no openings in the roof space, shining the flashlight at the floor to shield its light and feeling along the walls at the gable ends and where the sloping roof met the floor. There was a window at one end and they covered it over, using tape liberated from the kitchen to hold the torn cardboard in place. And when they were confident that light within could not be seen from outside, they lit the propane heater and huddled around its glow.

Dipper and Wendy sat close, arms and legs touching. Mabel sat on Dipper's other side, resting her head against her brother's shoulder and snoozing. And the other wretched survivors also sat together, enjoying the companionship and warmth as the space slowly heated up.

Tambry stared at her mobile phone as though doing so would bring in a signal.

Dan mumbled to himself, shaking his head, eyes wide, still staring down at the weapon between his feet as though it had purposely let him down.

Susan and Pacifica chatted quietly, and Bud sat in a far corner, shotgun over his legs and eyes filled with discomfort. Dipper glanced across at him and smiled, but Bud looked away.

"I think Bud's had enough of people for one day," he whispered to Wendy.

She nodded. "He should wear one of those T-shirts that says 'Do I look like a fucking people person?'"

"Got us out of a scrape."

"Yep. Saved our ass."

"Asses."

"Don't get all grammatical on me, dude."

He laughed softly and found it enjoyable. It used muscles that had grown stiff in the cold.

Dipper closed his eyes and tried thinking their problem through. It was painful. Everywhere he looked in his mind's eye he saw the people of Gravity Falls lying slaughtered. And all the chances of escape and rescue were hopeless. The relay station was down, which meant that none of the phones or radios would work. No one was due to come to town until the mayor reopened the town, and he was dead. Not many planes flew overhead this far north, and if they did there wouldn't be much to see, and the bus route would be closed due to the heavy snowfall.

"We're stuck here, aren't we?" Wendy whispered, as though she'd been reading his mind.

"I think so, yes."

Mabel had stirred and was staring at the propane heater. "How long will these canisters last?"

"A week," Dipper said. "Maybe a little longer." _But probably not even that long,_ he thought. Maybe if Ford had kept them fully charged it would last a week, but Ford had left when the when heavy weather came, missed most of the bad storms, and there wasn't anyone to reinforce the old bunker for the harsh conditions that could exist up here.

"We should conserve it," Wendy said. "The roof of this place will be insulated; once it's warmed up it'll stay warm. Especially with all of us up here."

"But what happens when it does run out?" Mabel asked.

"Then we find more," Dipper said.

"And maybe those people will give up and go somewhere else before then," Susan said, but Dipper could see that she did not believe that for a minute.

"Where are they going to go, exactly?" Dan said. "They won't just up and leave. They must have come here for a reason, something…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"I don't think they really are people," Pacifica said.

Mabel nodded, kneeling up and becoming more animated. "I saw them! When they attacked Grunkle Stan they…bit him." She frowned at the memory, looking into the dark corners of the attic. "Like they wanted his blood. They're like…vampires, y'know?"

"Vampires!" Dan scoffed. "Fuck's sake."

"Some of them had, like, fangs," Mabel continued. She stared into those shadows again, and Dipper would have given anything to be able to take those memories away from her. Mabel would have them forever, live them every night and fear them every day. He reached out and squeezed his siser's shoulder.

"Maybe they think they're vampires," Wendy said. Dipper shot her a look but she chose not to notice. "Maybe they filed their teeth down, and they're some sort of cult. I've read about them, they like to pretend they need blood to survive. Live in the dark, all that shit. All posturing and posing."

"Posturing and posing?" Dipper said slowly. He pulled away from Wendy and stood.

She shook her head. "I know, I didn't—"

"Lot more than fucking posturing going on here," Dan said.

"Right," Bud agreed.

"They don't fall when you shoot them!" Dan said, and Dipper heard the first shred of hysteria in his voice. "You shoot them, they keep coming! They're no cult, they're something…else!"

"Hell, shoot me, I don't fall," Bud said, and Dipper flashed him a brief smile. _We need that, _he thought._ Bit of humor. Make us remember who we are._

"Right," Dipper said. "Just because they're stubborn as Bud doesn't make them supernatural."

"Then what are they?" Pacifica asked.

"Right now, I don't care what they are," Dipper said. Standing, he had taken control of the conversation. Now that they were still and relatively calm, he didn't want panic settling in, and that was always a danger. Panic, hysteria, those could be their undoing. "I just care about what we do about them."

"There won't be any help for a month," Tambry said. "Can we live up here like this for a month?" She seemed to be asking this of her phone, but her words silenced everyone for a few loaded seconds.

"Ohhh God. We're going to die," Dan said, his voice almost a whimper.

"We can't last up here that long!" Susan cried.

"Can it, and keep your voices down!" Dipper hissed. "Damn it, we've come this far. Start thinking negative now and we won't survive, I can guarantee that. They surprised us, took away our defenses and our means of calling for help, and that in itself shows that they have their weak spots, doesn't it? It shows that they are vulnerable." He looked around the assembled group and really didn't like what he saw. Some of them refused to meet his eyes, others—Dan, Tambry—were just starting to slip over the edge.

"We have food," Wendy said.

Dipper nodded. "Right! We have food. I brought some up, but I know Stan always had a full pantry downstairs, cheap as he was. We'll check it out, ration it to last four weeks. Use the heater in small bursts. Sleep in shifts. Then we talk about the next step." He paused, and when no one disagreed he went on with more confidence. "We have two big advantages over those fuckers. First, we know Gravity Falls. Second, we know cold. We live here for a reason: because nobody else wants to."

"Yeah," Wendy said, and she ruffled Mabel's hair. She pretended to slap her hand away but Dipper saw her smile, and that lifted his heart.

"We'll get through this," he said.

"I say we go out and fight," Bud said from the corner.

"Don't be an ass, Bud," Susan said, and a couple of people actually chuckled.

Dipper looked at Bud. Is this when he blows? Now, or later? But the big man merely shrugged.

"We'll be torn to pieces!" Dan blurted out. "Guts ripped out, heads stuck on fucking sticks and-"

"Dad!" Wendy cried and he fell silent.

They all fell silent again for a while, and the quiet was beginning to feel uncomfortable again when Mabel cleared the air.

"So, this guy walks into a bar…"


End file.
